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Jacob Craig Poem
Abstracts hang:
sterling silver frames,
matted in motif,
celebrating Artist.
An exhibit, ten years old,
collects dust, forcing recollection.
The mortuary – Boyhood Curiosity.
Mother: Naked. Stretched. Stiff. Grey.
Tin baking dishes engulfed the counters.
Great aunts and second cousins crowded our sofas.
Somber chatter and pats on the head stung.
Clasping my girl’s hand, I twisted my door knob
quietly. Their chatter continued.
I escaped into her for my first kiss:
tear salt and cherry lip gloss.
Tuna casserole and ambrosia slopped
into lunch boxes. The cold steel of fresh
cut key tapped on chest, pulled the string around
my neck, leaving a rash. I walked into our empty house.
The walls echoed. Odor from cold spiral ham
replaced aroma of fresh cookies and oil paint.
Art followed Artist. Canvases were laid on the autopsy
table, framed for their wake.
Dressed in their Dynamic Blue,
Electric Lime and Habanero Red,
the dirging dead
hang on wall.
Copyright © Jacob Craig | Year Posted 2008
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Jacob Craig Poem
Dawn is a gunshot. An explosion
of high beams and church bells
that shake your brain.
Crawl out of dirty
linen cocoon. Stand.
Your joints ache with boozy rigor mortis.
Pull your hands across your eyes;
a rotting possum and a rusty razor
gash your senses.
Fumble to bathroom. Expel your proofed
personality into its porcelain tomb.
You’re a barroom medium, Dr. Jeckyll.
You hear Hyde screaming
from beyond the grave.
Pull off you Dead Sea stale clothes.
The faucet yawps and screams
like a dying animal. The ice cold water
stifles your breath, drops
you to your raw knees.
Spring to your feet. Pull back curtain.
Plant your wet feet on dingy tile.
Stomp to freezer like each step
is a shot glass slamming the oak bar.
Open and pull him from slumber.
Kiss his mouth, suck him dry.
Let him burn down your throat.
Saunter back to shower, Mr. Hyde.
Copyright © Jacob Craig | Year Posted 2008
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Details |
Jacob Craig Poem
heels Clap against alumni bricks
keeping time with the sway
of your imperial hips.
perfectly disheveled hair
frames spying pools of color.
two crimson leeches
utter cold words dressed
in warm clothing.
my fingers ache at
the hint of skin
and my body Submerges
in lonely Passion
as your Applause
echo behind me.
Copyright © Jacob Craig | Year Posted 2008
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