Handshake of Yet Another Face
I murmured soft curses and closed
the eyes of the doll with my fingers.
Badly it sneered
complete with solemn answers,
mourning next to the desk
saying yes to all discourse,
giving weight to the tons one by one,
starry magnitude of residue.
Someone’s car has its radio blaring,
attracting an element reluctant to sustain.
I wonder how they remake them
how they save them
naked in flowers, immaculate
the folly of the foot soldier and the slave’s reputation. They’ve come undone, alone by degrees,
perceiving the nondescript towering of daydreams. Imaginary bones of these dolls we seek here tonight, unleashing a genie we cannot contain.
Before I got there,
the panes were easily broken
by the other joys
in casual stutters and perpetual grace.
but I know these puzzles in the dust
charms in the pocket
are taken quite seriously.
Baring their brains to the heavens
these dreams become real
bombing out in colors
of purple and blue. Sirens, more slavery, downtown stretches
sleet overpowers them and in big waves.
Michael Igoe: Chicago native longtime Boston resident, social activist, member of the Democratic National Committee. Counselor to ex offenders and emotionally disturbed adolescents. Lived in Seattle NYC and elsewhere.Writing since 15, published in numerous magazines and journals.
TJ Edson is the Art Director of Oddball Magazine.