Flight of Ideas Read online

Still they continue

  And swing drop lift

  Swing drop lift,

  Driving the spike despite

  Blisters and thirst.

  One then another

  And swing drop lift

  Swing drop lift

  Moving as one somehow

  Hitting in sequence

  They swing drop lift

  Swing drop lift

  Filling the air

  With a

  Ping ping ping

  Ping ping ping

  Railroad song.

  *****

  Rail-Splitter

  Rail-splitter cry in the deep dark night,

  Raise your hammer and show your might.

  In the lamplight you hear her scream,

  Blue-faced beauty of whom you dream.

  Puffy lips pouting and eyes ice black,

  Cold like the steel on a railroad track.

  Before, beneath, below, beyond,

  All hell loose and all love gone.

  Swing and clang and split and wood,

  Do your job like a good man should.

  Yes and no and yes and no

  And yes and no and yes yes yes

  And there you go and so much sweat

  And work so hard for the money you get

  And all day long so hard so strong

  While sun beats down and bosses look on,

  And damn and hell and bills to pay

  And no cash left and fired today

  And swing and pound and push and lunge

  And now and now and now and

  Scream.

  Rail-splitter rest in the deep dark night,

  You don’t feel better but you do feel right.

  *****

  Bru Tal Ity

  And when the sun had beaten down long

  Enough, burning every last bit of humanity

  Out of his melting head, every bit of everything but

  Roasting agony, waves of heat curling off

  Distorting the air around him like ripples in a pond,

  Marking the life and hope streaming out of him

  In silvery capitulation of the equatorial steam,

  That was when the rest of us knew we had

  Done enough, done our jobs in tearing him down as

  Directed by the intuitive power of our genes,

  The war for reproduction driving us all to wreck the com

  petition, leaving more possible homes for the bio

  logical contents of our imaginary treasure troves. And so

  we were left to stand and watch with hearts both light

  and heavy, basking and revolted at one and the same time

  As the Florida sun cooked him in his skull

  Like a lobster in its shell, waiting expectant

  ly with drawn butter in hand, savoring the thought of how

  Fantastic his flesh his emotions his dreams

  Will taste when we sink our teeth and that first squirt of juice

  Squirt of flavor squirt of soul passes through

  The membrane between his world and our much more

  bru

  tal

  one.

  *****

  Home Fires

  A.

  A screaming woman, crimson gown,

  Sweating loud and pushing down

  Against the mothy blankets of

  A bloody bed in Hometown.

  Spreading legs and midwife arms

  Reveal the feeble fleshy form

  That strives to suck the Hometown air

  Like some writhing, bloody worm.

  Upon a stand a lamp glows dim,

  Shadows hiding her from him,

  Watching helpless by the door,

  Husband praying, waiting for.

  Outside rain is falling fast

  Blinding lightning flashing past,

  Thunder smashing with the shrieks

  That bring the thing the life it seeks.

  And then, a clap, a cry, a cleave,

  A holy signal one must leave,

  The final flood of pain and blood,

  A new voice screams, a cord is cut.

  From one come two, from two come three,

  A child held high for him to see;

  The husband smiles, the husband sobs,

  It gives him life, his life it robs.

  And the wailing woman, the wailing girl

  Flicker like phantoms in the lamp-flame’s curl,

  The light so tired, the shadows so long

  Hide the greedy home fires,

  Still blazing, still strong.

  B.

  Stained glass windows wall the place,

  Color the cover of each proud face,

  Stiff red smiles and dim yellow frowns,

  Coal black eyes turned green look down.

  High cold ceilings and marble floors

  Echo the whispers, the organ chords.

  Some of the fathers are robed in white,

  Gliding like ghosts in a censered night --

  Others are strapped into rare dark suits,

  Collars for hardhats, new shoes for boots.

  And there by the water, one by one,

  Taking their daughters, giving their sons

  To grim holy phrases and gestures and prayers,

  To the God of their parents who watches them there.

  And waiting in silence for the turn of her own

  Is the mother of the child of the storm and the home,

  No longer bloody or screaming with birth

  But bringing her girl to the good holy church.

  Finally, he calls her, his arms opened wide,

  She gives him the baby, and stays by her side

  As a blessing, a Bible, a bell, a splash,

  And a new church infant is lifted at last.

  The mother is happy, the grandmothers nod,

  Another pure child is christened to God.

  And the smiling mother, the crying babe,

  Flare in the smoldering candle flame,

  The wick so low, the glow grown small,

  Just another home fire,

  Still lighting them all.

  C.

  Out in the back yard, the little girl plays,

  Finding the sunlight in Hometown haze,

  Green grass and flowers polluted with gray

  To the fresh mind become a bright, brilliant bouquet.

  From the dirty streams, oceans, from the rock piles, thrones,

  Princes from miners and scepters from bones,

  Running and laughing and flying on swings,

  Amazed at the wonderful thrill each day brings.

  And soon she is learning with others in school,

  Reciting her letters and numbers and rules,

  And everything opens, becomes brighter still

  With stories and dreams from beyond the bleak hills.

  She pledges allegiance, she says all her prayers,

  She learns to be good, to behave, to beware,

  Finds new games to play with new friends from Hometown,

  The right way to dress and to act and to sound.

  At home there is more, from the mother who shows

  How to cook, how to clean the house, how to wash clothes,

  How to scrub the floor, make the fire, sew and buy food,

  How to be a good wife, what a mother must do.

  So each day the girl grows in her body and mind

  And soon she is seven and then she is nine,

  Under the dark skies, the whimpering wind,

  The only place, every place, place without end.

  And the loving mother, the loyal child

  Live in the faint sun, the fire defiled,

  The days so cloudy, the shine so dull

  Mark another home fire,

  Irresistible call.

  D.

  Dresses, tresses, messes, lessons

  Fill the days of adolescence,

  Blooming, brooding, blushing, break
ing,

  Dances, chances for the taking.

  In a blink, the child is gone,

  A vibrant woman carries on,

  Graceful, gentle, hoping now

  That life will be so bright somehow.

  Gray skies forgotten, hard times ignored,

  Roses from crabgrass at her word,

  Closing mines she does not see,

  Just the joy that youth can be.

  And then, as she was taught and told

  She finds the one, the love to hold,

  The match, the man, the light, the loin,

  The fated future she must join.

  Beneath bright moons they walk together,

  Getting closer, getting better,

  Life amid the dying land,

  Speaking, touching, holding hands.

  They wonder, promise, make their plans,

  Play the part of girl and man,

  Prepared for years, they know the lines,

  The epic poems out of time.

  And the joyful mother, the imminent bride

  Glow at the news in the light from the sky,

  The moon so distant, the night so deep,

  Set the same home fires,

  Reflections they keep.

  E.

  Creamy satin, pearly braid,

  A dress the mothers before her made,

  Some are watching, some are dead,

  All fulfilled within her tread.

  Finally, the day has come,

  Years ago, with screams begun,

  The dream is true, the stories real,

  The wonderful way they said she’d feel.

  And then, a song, a step, a stare,

  Down the aisle, locked in pairs,

  Until the couple coalesce,

  One from two, no more, no less.

  People like a stained glass sculpture

  Watch the wedding, face the altar,

  Remembering when they were meeting,

  Forgetting work and pain, retreating.

  At last, the words, the ring, the gesture,

  Priest pronounces, bless him, bless her,

  Applause and music, laughter echo,

  Streams of light strike through the window.

  Beams of brightness brush the bride,

  Tie the bridegroom at her side,

  He lifts her, carries from the crowd,

  Outside they kiss, he puts her down.

  And the crying mother, the smiling wife

  Shine in the sunlight elusive in life,

  Everything happy, everything clear,

  Disguises home fires,

  Still potent, still near.

  A.

  A screaming woman, crimson gown,

  Sweating loud and pushing down

  Against the mothy blankets of

  A bloody bed in Hometown.

  Spreading legs and midwife arms

  Reveal the feeble fleshy form

  That strives to suck the Hometown air

  Like some writhing, bloody worm.

  Upon a stand a lamp glows dim,

  Shadows hiding her from him,

  Watching helpless by the door,

  Husband praying, waiting for.

  And then, a clap, a cry, a cleave,

  A holy signal one must leave,

  The final flood of pain and blood,

  A new voice screams, a cord is cut.

  From one come two, from two come three,

  A child held high for him to see;

  The husband smiles, the husband sobs,

  It gives him life, his life it robs.

  And the wailing woman, the wailing girl

  Flicker like phantoms in the lamp-flame’s curl,

  The light so tired, the shadows so long

  Hide the greedy home fires,

  Still blazing, still strong.

  *****

  Moment Of Glory

  A room full of gas,

  Whiskey fumes, beer breath,

  Generic cigarettes, even

  Cigars, pumping bitter steam

  In vast acrid layers -- even

  Somewhere, dopesmoke sneaking out of

  Crappers, past flies suddenly dizzy

  And condom dispensers --

  Any color 50¢ --

  Smoke and Grandad gas, hanging and

  Farts, beer farts, vomit, mixing

  With Value City perfume, huge puffs clinging

  To lipstick and mascara like stinking balloons tied

  To their faces, pulling them up, up

  When they should be looking down --

  Smell everywhere, gas inflammable

  Sifting and sticking to every paintchip, every

  Armpit, and if just one more

  Camel lit, it would all go up,

  First thunder

  Then every glass, every bottle

  Like ten thousand fingernails all

  At once scraped down chalkboards,

  And one big scream

  And then just wind and puddles of Bud.

  Dim lights so the joint just glows

  Like a crushed butt;

  Faces in the gas, in the glass,

  Eyeball white and bloodshot,

  Girleyes brushed thickblack like

  Coal seams, bluejeans stretched

  Over pumpkin asses, tightcrotched

  To distract from flab.

  Some laugh, some mumble, some

  Sleep, all with glasses

  Or cans...

  And guys play music.

  A low, mean beat rolls out of a

  Corner, rumbling out through the gas

  And over the tables, the eyeballs,

  A tractor, a pickup, a big

  Ford gearing down and plowing over the

  Room, just waiting to rip into fourth

  And blow out of there at 75

  But never quite

  Making it.

  Four guys play country,

  Sweating free beer and slowing down

  Because it’s three o’clock.

  Nobody dances.

  Then, he looks around.

  His eyes are wide and pink, rarely

  Blinking but jumping from side to

  Side as he looks.

  More Miller’s, then a dim spark

  Like someone striking flint in

  The back of his skull,

  He grins --

  Sets the glass back down in its ring

  On the table --

  Stands up slowly, feeling the motor-music

  Driving past --

  And explodes.

  He dances freakishly, suddenly, all

  Alone before the music guys

  And surrounded by the eyeball people.

  His arms whip around at crazy

  Angles like fishing poles

  And his head hops up and down,

  Bobbing in the gas with pubic greasy

  Hair flinging.

  White T-shirt, blue jeans blur as

  His short legs stomp and spider over

  Can tabs and butts, belly

  Knocking his Chevy buckle and

  Swinging as he jumps around.

  He twists and writhes, contorts

  Obscenely like a hooked fish,

  Flapping and vibrating, thrusting chest

  Out and ass back, kicking and

  Jolting -- face tight, eyes shut, teeth

  Clenched in concentration.

  People laugh; band starts

  To gear down, shifting for him into

  One final blow, full throttle,

  And the new beat spins him

  Around like a top --

  Arms, legs, belly, hair

  Flapping faster, faster in the glowing

  Gas, and the people laugh and

  Start to clap to the beat and

  It makes him wild...

  They circle around, all eyeballs and

  Mascara in the smoke, hooting

  And yowling for the clown, cheering,


  A chorus for the piston-music.

  He leaps and shakes and the

  Music guys prod him on a little

  Faster, drums punching his stomach, his

  Head, so they jerk again and

  Again he dives like a chicken,

  Bones and flesh flying random, as if

  Unconnected, strung to fingers in the

  Lights, and he spins frantically --

  He dances, they cheer and clap

  And the music beats them all

  Like fighters in the smoke,

  And it starts to climb and he

  Leaps across the floor, teeth clenched

  Still, eyes clamped and every inch

  Whipping and quaking faster

  Faster clapping drumming

  Faster scrawling faster in

  Orgiastic blowout and faster and

  His features dissolve in churning

  Gas faster faster harder and a

  Single chord screaming through

  All their sweaty skulls and

  Glass breaks and he finally explodes

  In a freaky stagger,

  His slick, greasy head thrown

  Back in the smoke.

  Then he crumples dead

  To the slimy floor

  And somebody belches.

  *****

  Denim Skirt

  Denim skirt swirling,

  You spin across the dance floor

  With a smile on your face

  Like the clockwork cosmos spinning around you

  In infinite majesty,

  Grand and eternal and spotless

  As your high-topped white sneakers with the

  White ribbon laces.

  Your husband keeps pace flawlessly,

  His only imperfection his red and white seersucker shirt,

  Soaked with sweat in the humid

  Afternoon, everyone sweating except

  You, the spinning one,

  The denim skirt, unimpeachable,

  Untranslatable in your transubstantiation

  Of cosmic elements and music of the spheres

  Transmitted via waves of three-count polka

  Music, converting billions of years

  And billions of moments

  And billions of interactions into

  Just this polka moment

  Just this polka polka You.

  *****