Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Corey Mesler

You Know Her

She took the highlights out of her hair
and turned the corner into town.
The men all wanted her the way men
want things that make noise
and are shiny. Once, in a truck, she gave
the driver the benefit of her
secret studies. Once, in a room, she
fell for a boy who had hair the color of
roast beef. It was a life she finally
had to turn her back on. She turned her
back on and she turned her front on
and she turned toward all the glittery
people and smiled her special smile
and she became famous for things that
most of us love, most of us desire.
You know her name and her face and much
about her past. You know her, now that
I think about it, just about as well as anyone.
Why don’t you help her? Why don’t you
come when she calls? Why is she so alone now?

Our Recent Development

“What a time! What a civilization!”
--Cicero (106-43 B.C.)

We call it a civilization. We
built it with our hands’ hands.
We like to lie in it and watch
the colors carried by. Sometimes
it seems all we can do is lift
an arm to wave to the wretched.
We wave like potentates. We
wave like seas immortal. In the
end we will begin again, as likely
as not to do it all again the same way.

June 21, 2010

Another Father’s Day passed
and they let me keep my head for
one more year. This is the
deal we’ve struck. Perhaps you
remember a day when there
was only peace and generosity.
Perhaps you keep your cage clean.
I am thankful to the vengeful gods
and I walk out into the world a little
head-happy, a little smug, a demiurge.


This poem is brought to you by Paxil.
In the evenings
the light weakens and the house grows
still as if it ran on light.
I can lie down with the newspaper and
the only sound will be
the crows gathering for their murder.
This poem is brought to you by Paxil.
Without the way to the
mountain there would be no mountain.
I look into the children’s eyes
and there is water there, a still, blue
surface, concealing a depth like music’s
heart. This poem is brought to you by
Paxil. There is peace here, pax.
Peace and an abiding need to talk to
you while I am calm,
and nameless as the fossarian’s shadow.

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