Wednesday, July 28, 2004

#11 Tiger Poem

From Anthony Robinson comes our ELEVENTH (!) tiger poem.  I had to use a very, very small font so that the lines wouldn't be broken up.  I hope that you can read it:

Self-Conscious Menagerie: Tiger

In the bulging hammock of the universe, a tiger holds court.
a tiger in a hammock means business                  we love business.

today star says: libra take what you want              don’t think you can’t have
Johnny go-getter pins Sally to the canvas like a hollow butterfly

beautifully. Alice Toklas makes eggs with two sticks of butter.
my cookbooks stand in as fish stand in.   you know, poems.

lacking the photos the too big seething hat.       language tw-
itching in my groin.                    Michael Palmer of the moment.

who goes where               I’ve made your French things dirty
the laundry of your wan Bastille, your panties on the sill

a tiger in a laundry room washes more efficiently.         than antelope.
your hard surface burning bright.            your symmetry, jawbone, lack.

calves too thin. frock too thin. face too thin. hungry tiger makes
the strongest drinks. hanging from a tree, I picked a juicy cherry.

working through the twelve-year old’s catalog of vice. managed
cigarettes, cursing.        next up, masturbation.              I’ll be quite good.

in the bulging ladle of the backyard, Twemlow’s cat holds court.
he is not a tiger.                                             he is not of that tribe.

I am striped today.       lick milk from thin fingers, too thin.      nails
holes in my hands & heart. holes in my distance from.

tigers blow things up.     like balloons and bombs.     like ungraceful
people.                 stood up.          looked out.             saw the most lovely

the tooth of the French tiger.     & the Spanish tiger.       the girl
falling over her dress.                   we’ve made a mess, li’l tiger.

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