Denise Newman



Birdness of Dreams of Who We Were

The leafness and thinness dayness I perceive unknowing
can speak through things, look closely the lid is off
a child with disappearing limbs kept alive by shyness--so I dreamed--
in fogginess to avoid knowing how much of one disappears each day
a slender cricketness under the clammy nettle edge of August.

The back of the earth getting out of bed mid-dream
no mouth to open and divide road-like
the pictures flow unbroken as air falls from the blue
in the dirt with bugs and pebble bits absorbed
into herself--in herness--before the other was fitted on

Growing in lightness the birdness of girl watching
like scratching blind with an inner sense, he is kindness,
a pocket free of death from which to watch their mouthness
pushing as plows at an invisible natural order--no pause
to pause and silence in

When the bits are so small they sparkle. A golden crouching in the dust.
Eyelets fastening feelings to oblivion in mirror-tension
the spotless dryness of reflection in perfect order kept intact
dreaming in the dust nothing is ever lost--
the invisible workings through one called sometimes love

driven by it, the faceless darkness of the lake
mine reflected dimly on the window, I kiss
your shyness, bundling it all up in a watery
slip through fingers look before I turn to leap--
We are ripe for ruin.  Yes, eat, eat

The Hole

We own it all
except the holes
out them we go scattering
like scared rabbits...
waiting one's turn to read
heart bouncing the tongue
shaking the words up (adverbs
usurp the verbs) shakily
no wonder the plate's dropped
you too in pieces
held in their fists
Don't run rabbit. We'd never hurt you.
It is dark in the tree of the heart
but the forest has no inside to be
pushed out of

The whole worthless sky
is priceless--A Blue Law
not to spend on Sundays
we spend them near the hole
if only
what would you say if your head was on fire?
Nothing, as one looks to a mirror
and thinks, who?
Dry grind against the day dreams
trying sort of to remember
what I'm supposed to be doing
Hunched over syrupy man
behind a dirty windshield waving
--waving back thinking,
I don't even know him

What We Deserve

The wet skin chilled, fear I may get ill
fear deeper than wet--much worse
If we talk of death (we don't) we show
the workings
Rain glazed ever so sleekly
down the street--the latest model
Desire Guide
winking and posturing wildly
while you're robbed from behind
           Now it comes.

Like a curtain of light out of nothing
darts off--a long
torso shiver
           the multiple possible hows
who was that: why me
(certainly the answer would end
the question of God)--Thief!
You can ham up the facts for the police all right
but quietly in the bed swallowing night
           From where did you come?