Major Jackson

from Urban Renewal


A squeegee blade along your tongue's length.
Most dances are crimes against the face. Ash is
A mirror, & mornings you'll wake not particularly heroic,
But eager to glisten like the silvering of office panes,
Light gilding down between your teeth. Make easy-listening.
Sigh & gargle. Freedom? Fierce attention to dirt.
You might possess. Remember Sonny Boy Sam.
Rear-view window & Flava Flav. Subdue a grin, yet mouth—
Well-mannered, soft, an entrance, a conference room.
Oh! Rossi? That's Italian. But the lady said he was
Puerto-Rican. All the stoops and dreams, trileveled
Seats of speculation, which foam, portraits of deeds
Mist, blur, first as vaporish powder, blue crystals
Ground-fine, then spume, rain-bowed bubblings.
Now, you're classical, at least your eyes, marble-white,
Tinge and tingle, fresh, newly heard harmonies.

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© 2001 Electronic Poetry Review