Aught, no. 15 (2006)


Carrie Hunter

symbolic landscape

bloody knife, [he is] laughing, I am alone

rocks that look like women
                                         drowning
pick-up truck crossroads
          dust in the air
                    knives surrendered
                              placed gently
                                        on the ground
wrapped up in ribbons, rings soiled around
          the pink the dirt
                                        everything is absorbed

                    we don’t miss anything now

I’ve been having nightmares, alone
          with the knife wielder
this dream where
                              the one murdered
          is the murderer himself

seeing what realism misses
          every view a box, a portion
I have on gloves, I have the knife, a ring in my hand

What is Diego painting now?

I slide the ring onto the knife
          take off one glove
                    evaporate, take the form of rock

goodbye

 

 

concatenatious dream song

A girl on a horse.
                    Burnt umber.
Short hair the color of the horse’s.
          Concatenation.
We are linked.
          She lives in my room.
In the railroad-style house
                    I used to live in.
We go to visit her.
                    My father and I.
everything is open
everything is locked

*

New gates have been put in everywhere,
maze of gates, we open one,
                    there is another, we open
          that one, there is another.
They are all locked but the locks do not work.
We finally enter my room, which is her room now.

everything is open
everything is locked

*

I am afraid of pearls
and there are daggers in my pillow.
                    everything is open
                    everything is locked

*

There is so much order here.
I wondered if she is a me of the past
but why is everything so organized
and empty, uncluttered, such openness.
I wonder if she is my potential.
There is a typewriter in the middle of the room
on its own typewriter-sized table.
Nothing against the wall but necessity.
A bed. Green shutters.
                                        A bell
hanging from the door
          but when she leaves (everything is open)
                    she walks through the window,
                              so nothing rings,
                                        no clatter,
                                        no clutter.

          (and the places we can visit
                    the food we can eat)

 

 

Things You Think You Should Know About:

Titan’s notorious haze
          and you here
                    licorice-less
and shining of something
                              other
something less,
          and more real

Why are you standing
          there in the shadows
  without a spiral or a coil
          or something shining
                    in your palm?

Such shaded top hats that leave no cover.
Ulcers of finality—
          and you here all alone
          and me here all alone

Titan’s haze is there something I should know about
you that I don’t know that I don’t see by looking
          sunscreen, masks and rosary beads
          evaporating, smearing across the lines
                              and there is something else
but…

both of us are here together all alone

          except for that owl
                                        here in broad daylight

                    and both of us are here together
                                                  yet all alone
and always a third thing to remind you
          what are you not looking at
                    what do you not see
that the owl sees

          turn around turn around
hoot hoot           orange eyes
          a sun inside glowing outwards
what you can’t see because you match it

wait for night wait for night

 

 

Un-finned

blurry concave recipricocity
          there is a mountain around me
what surrounds me    is what’s inside me
stubborn southern street scoundrel
   pecan capital of the world
and inside me    so warm     so hum

well then there needs to be an elephant
   crazy indigenous me coming out
                                                  of me

pecans echo secrets to each other
"I do not think that they will sing to me"
Rapallo inside.    Rapallo
seeping   singing   sleeping   seething
          and something shiny and black
piano keys suggesting
                    and singing
          and breathing                     so hum

***

so full of birds                     and thousands of birds
          “bring the green boy white ways”    and thousands
“white lake trembles down to green goings on”           do you hear it?

so full of birds, so full of birds
                    this mountain
                              what’s inside me what surrounds me
                                                                            do you hear it?
a shining you cannot see

 


Copyright 2006, by the author. All rights reserved.
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