Snails of the Apocalypse
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SNAILS OF THE APOCALYPSE Martha Zweig POB 1038 Hardwick, Vermont 05843-1038 802-472-5472 [email protected] CONTENTS I intimates Charm Before Sleeping Futurity Mothers’ Day Gamma Egg on Memorial Day Mystery Package Hearse Precipitations Olfactory Cues Troth He Recollects Her Finery But I Digress Cove, Swells Finale Minna Bottom Mise en Scene II neighborhoods Deer Visit Alice Apocryphal Forecast Pearly Everlasting Holiday Community Help-Yourself Petit Mal My Debt to Society A Mechanical Bank Dubious Provenance Paradise I Wake Up Without a Navel Undersong All Hell III word processing Triphyllum Impulse Dysfluencies Afterspat Bill-&-Coo Anathema Beauty Sleep Fever Blessing Big Bang Séance Ghazal But No Hinterland Not About You Beyond Me All the Precedents, in Order Ice Out IV snake & snail Burn The Breakfast Nook Against Consolation Mutt Mix Taint Waterskin Reincarnal Zombie Jamboree Task Force Advance Directive I intimates CHARM BEFORE SLEEPING You are of my species against the ocean’s inroads upon the ringed kingdom of recognition: among all mixed daily things I know you. Whatever the dreams do, may the constant bodily keeping involving us now within the waking coincidence maintain us nearby, while we and all who have held tight relax to sleep, and through these hours, difficult to remember, when death will undo each double helix and comb the loose strands, like the sea. FUTURITY Numeral round to numeral round- &-round our sundial ants tug time. Tiny harnesses of light. At night at various variances the stars & moon hitch up the Four Snails of the Apocalypse, but you-- for you, little jockey, I slide up & buckle the two purple stirrups you’ll perch to break the gate & hurl out fluttering silks (o my favorite!) onto urgency’s whipping track: already latterdays’ lost tuck the far turn in a shuffle of dust. MOTHERS' DAY Willynilly, mama's cottoncandy baby boy, floss flesh spins on a spine & just now such a sourpuss, do fuss less, yes? Dreambasket & bobbling to uppity whitecapped & lilypaddled lake traffic lilting off from loon to leggy heron & back to a skit of raccoon, mama's puttering one of her annual half-past two o'clock picnics luckily you'll settle to nap through just as I now nuzzle you to for my pretty refreshment's sake at the nick of my visitor, vinegar mother of mine seeped up exactly on time from her puckering grave. She'll linger; I'll primp her wisps again. We'll sip wine. GAMMA EGG ON MEMORIAL DAY Take me for a floribunda-headed tuft! The hat’s a formality one unsupervised mirror, knowing no better, picked out for me; alas, rash millinery, but might’ve turned me out even more unbecomingly among the cemetery decor, half plastic & spattered, the whole famdamnily outing indignant over its hour-&-a- half already behind a schedule. Thanks to me, also, refreshments I promised & made & mustn’t I know I set right here, it was checkered linen in russet wicker. Private graces: I bless to such grandbabies as these of mine & worldwide the paradisiacal islands of the pancreas & all the kindly endocrines, whose penitential cells seep, sweet, even in sleep careless sleep & likewise all the waking hours I keep love at it, lub-dub. The heart unskilled like a fist, squishing the love along to distribute among the subtlest capillaries to nourish cell bulbs originating the grandbabies’ eyelashes, even. Why do you live with us, Gamma Egg? You know, I was off on a way, the way, my own, the one I like to get, the one you always seem to, & just then because of the exprovising implosive devices, the loving astray. MYSTERY PACKAGE You get it-- right now-- surprise! Peel up the blue sky apparent at the bottom of a pavement puddle & there appears your career in outer space. Or, when you crank open their can, the worms’ delighted expressions. World without end or means: swept up, & the museum of dark matter closed, as if merely for renovations. Map- dancing bees circumvent the rotunda & zag away to their hexagon complex, experts as to locality, as if lost souls’ applause compelled them encore home. Unpack your basket. Wrapped in someone’s houndstooth-checkered- past napkin, the nasty booby-trapping war that shook over your son returns him. HEARSE after William Blake Oops, hit the skid rind, cruel world slipped a corkscrewy peel of it’s-about-time. Spirits high, royalty flung itself wide open upon its own unhinges & by a splinter of chance that night I rose, my first foot received into a golden glassyeyed slingback pump, slick as princeling himself & the moon by its half & half- again measures recalculating what brass tarnish or shine he & his might take to me & mine. Heels, toes, how didn’t both poor stepsisters flail tipsy & lose their balances, bloody-shod & blind! Remember the cornfield listening?-- nick of the worm in the rolypoly pumpkin’s undercarriage? Sooner or later a watched wedding boils. PRECIPITATIONS 1. Maple branches hauled the clogged snow fourteen miles away, seventeen miles return to shrug more of the same snow off onto the porch steps. The steps tiptoed around the downspout corner to where the lilac to this day doesn’t recall. Try to compel it, it won’t. Seems I can’t distinguish an upending of grief from its lowdowning. 2. Refrain, bass thump I worked up from underneath & into a neighboring dog’s whine, scours my ears. April: already a week’s leftover clouds spoil in the sink & the sky wrings its rag of sour rain ping-ping down into a speckled pan on the ground. The other pan, shiny one I could see a face in, scorched-- as Sir Armadillo, knight in armor, rusts, husk of himself, steel wool argyle vest I knitted him into. 3. Unexpectedly clad as hail, surprise, it’s you! --rare one, outlandish, hippity hopping-mad in the dooryard, ridiculous momentary tantrum, all the peonies battered flat & then in exhaustion you break into silly sunburst & rainbow, innocent crunch of you underfoot, sobbing & soon led off in plastic fisticuffs. My desk planner enters, for tomorrow, Not today! & lists in logical order aspects of a complicated errand. 4. Months’ drudgery turning over & inside- & rightside- out leaf after leaf, but tonight I rustle out gorgeous: supermodel the runway queen in strut, cocked neck snapping a tangled curl across my sneer, svelte all the way home in chilly gooseflesh stomping poppop-zip through the last clutch of photographers. Season’s sensation: ballooning midnight-blueblack gown, its quick switches & tucks of fog, a la mode, all the rage. OLFACTORY CUES That’ll be that bum raccoon pair now, rumble my dumpster! All-hours backwoods masque, Soldier-of- Fortune loves Prima Donna for the little ways her fingers do fishheads & for the inquisition she permits her tongue. For my part, I pick over best in speckled foxgloves: see my ad in Odds- ‘n’-Ends, apparent weekly starting next best vexed issue. Take, for my own good, care. Sniff what mustier yet bouquet foments: this morning’s oeuvre stars me fumigating in flying colors such lingerie, table linens & lingering sheets as string along the patio, even as in aerosol I next brush up my static-blue bouffant, incorporating what flattering lights these rosy windows glance off mirrors even as I miss my image in them terribly. Did I mean to revisit romantic indiscretion, the spiced bower? Trellis, sundial, trippingly the ardent letter stashed ashen under the (which one?) flagstone? Today the day & this the very stricken hour I’m positive we set? More mere animal racket, though, & persistent stink: varmints taking liberties upon my (I admit it) riches of embarrassment, hot toxics of carnal conversation. Love of my life, I ramble on. Soupcon in the air of a ghost some orderly somewhere unwinds out of old gauze bagged in biohazard. I remember my lips swelled & bled. Bruised over the pelvis, I staggered. I could fuck a stone-cold stone rock, I thought, if it were he, if he pressed his nostrils into me. TROTH As surely as eleven Eastern gray squirrels twirl twigs roundabout the parade grounds, I love you & lash my leaves too. Yay! until very God Herself appears slinky in sequins & in full diatribe roaring No way! will I assuredly love you. As yours-truly as new flotsam floats & fresh jetsam hurls upon high seas-swollen rollicking residue, I, too, crest in whitecaps of love among such two-by-twos as grapple one or another sloshed off of No’s foundering ark, & as verily I buzz as does the hive of hexagonized love that survives every flower to flatter & fatten its Queen of stings’ sweet dream. If I crouch latterly scratching a frosty window’s opaque fleurs- de-lys to elaborate love’s ill-gotten pains, if I’ve caught on to your quickstep just then double-crossing our spin-- why, I’ll be that liar luckily nobody listens to; I’ll be the nevermind-who, whose only love you’ll be nonetheless, poor irregardless you. HE RECOLLECTS HER FINERY I’d just about sweet-talked closing time into home-to-my-love when its very last moment stumbled clumsily upon, ah, the true me. O dear, o dear. Such-as-it-is was my sad shape. What sad hands must’ve dug the slick gray clay clods of me once from a drum? Slapped-on, then, & thumbing me through successive misdisfigurements, as against what innocent armature formerly tingling shyly to what high promise, witticism & incipient flesh tones? Look what the cat dragged in & drops & purrs to, sniffs it & seizes it up & trots on ahead, repeating at each threshold.