Sunday, Dec. 27, 2009
Mediations on a Young Woman - Pretty - Emphasized by Short Soft Hair and a Red Plastic Flower Barrett, Eating a Sandwich
I see the folds
of my brain in between the wheat
bread; I feel the tomato slices cold
against my thoughts; the tang of onions
camps a multitude in the sweet sour
firm pinchy fabric of my cerebrum; the halos
of onions radiate my brain and my reason
wanes and the oceanic sense flows loose and blank;
the chemicals latent in mayonnaise leak
into folds down into my memory, its pressurized
expanding water table, percolating, dark, and here
the white sauce slops the wells and clogs
the throbbing pumps.
The bread is my love nest and platter
and absorptive planet, death bed
and grainy cradle.
My brain is an electric sponge,
squeezed and sucking, squeezed
and sucking, squeezed and sucking.
She looks at me and my eyes tumble
toward the floor like two telescopes
smashed, bleeding stars.
Neil Gasparich is from South Milwaukee. He has a healthy interest in the orthodox as well as the unorthodox.