..................................................................................................................................................
The Poetry Of.
Corey Mesler...................................................
Assimilation
Your child takes
your presence
for granted.
How could he or she know
the gamble that
brought you here, the terrible
struggle, the
tight-
rope
walk?
In Corey’s Memphis
(for Ward Abel)
In Corey’s Memphis
the stoplights hesitate.
It’s that feeling you get
between yes and can
you live with less?
In Corey’s Memphis
the Chamber of Commas
has written a history just
short of reason, high on
the human metaphor
and punk punctuation.
It’s always twilight
in Corey’s Memphis.
The river is the color
of a sea-shell’s lip,
Aphrodite’s vulva.
The ducks tread water.
The pigs roll over.
The next time you’re in trouble
call a hippie.
And every fugging banker
is pantless in the middle
of the road. Good times.
In Corey’s Memphis
there is room for everybody.
The doors are all open.
The lines move quickly.
Like this one, which
lost its meaning as
you were reading it.
That’s a typical day
in Corey’s Memphis.
There are so many books
and so few readers.
Everyone has to pitch
in, relievers and middle-
men. In Corey’s Memphis
the Egyptians have all
gone home and the bagman
next to you is bluffing.
It’s that kind of town.
Runaway Cracker Noir!
Metonymy metoni-you!
At night we pull the
sidetracks in and open
up our hearts. We are all
about love here, here
in Corey’s Memphis.
I Have Long Nights
Into which I pour myself
as if in the act of filling holes
I will become one (won).
