Gordian Parvo


I. The Morningstar
Insert my hand into the disposal 
for quick lesson of how to insert my hand into things. 
Columbus; we’ve got a quick fixes for avoiding scams, 
black mail or sexual fraud, just liquidate your doses, 
move Cain to your muscles or the porch lights, 
focus on the back yard fights, the half finished fences with no lock, 
and we’ve got everything they’ve got, 
Gosling Lake and Schiller’s Park.

I put the keys in the ignition and drive
down the block to where the girls in halter tops
walk backwards from middle school, removing
their shoes to stumble over the saline cracks in cement’s shore. 
Once said it was cancer, or cursive writing.

stepping twice on very beautiful, I never meant
claiming my answers were ever there, 
never was a popular guy, face started aligning right, 
teeth white, new jawline, and now I’ve got a reason 
to stick my head out the window.

II. The American Dream
In between; Abdullah the butcher, tears forty incisions 
on his head and scares the kids from approaching him outside shows,
never known; kayfabe. 
Colouring the mat with licking spots of blood matted red hair, 
maybe the advice was to take aspirin before matches, 
Ric Flair did it when he was main eventing against 
Dusty “The American Dream” Rhodes. 
Choking on carmel popcorn, sorting sodas with two hands,
Rise, cheer, circular arena; later wounds silent like
empty hallways.

III. Alexander the Great
Now that Gosling Lake is covered with bermudic things,
We sign the lease and it’s time to move. Gathering our affairs; 
Lurid creatures hiding nightly in trapper keepers.

Attica; Prisoners that have suckled loose the breast
of woven wicker women, sold out of the back of white vans. 
Tired, chirping Red-eyed Vireos, a common bird
gather near my windows and castrate themselves
on wooden splinters. 

Avoid her voice like Peta Nocuna avoids the Pease River, 
I’ve got whistles and songs that I’ve hummed for so long, 
her name and her guise are doing whip-its in the back of my mind, stuttering the decision I don’t make when it comes to kissing
someone next to me. 

I’d rather be the middle aged Alexander working at Supercuts, 
who happened upon his urge to conquer hair 
when he shaved his dog, Gordo, after it got Parvo 
in eastern Kentucky.

poetry kentucky alexander paradise lost parvo columbus ohio john milton

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