The Poetry Of..
Corey Mesler............................................................
The Song of Her Leaving
When I finally woke
she had placed a wreath of bells
around my midsection.
The house was pregnant with
her absence and the
windows all were letting pass
a light the color of lemon jello.
I sang a little song as I made
coffee. She would never
return and I would live a life made
staticky by ignorance.
Tra la, I sang. And the light was
oh so right on this particular morning.
The Observer Observed
It's just a picture, a
woman in a red dress.
I drink it in
as if it were a phthisis.
I imagine I am always
looking to be stirred
because I am
so often shaken.
I write her name on
an asterisk. I
stand in the rain all
day waiting for answers.
The picture keeps mum.
Its secret is that
I am also important.
LSD
We were all out walking our incunabula.
The streets were paved with blandishment.
Star said, let's wait till the calendar changes.
It will happen within us and without us.
We shouldered our bazookas and went in
search of a way out of the melting daylight.
In the end it didn't matter where we ended up.
The journey, Triscuit said, is more important
than the sitcom about the hillbillies.
Come the sunrise we all declothed and made
a circle, attached at the genitalia. It
was Rebirth. It was the beginning of something
mythoclastic, Coyote said. Something that
each of us believed, held dear, regurgitated.
Acid, the acid said, is the way to the way
that is no-way. The road is paved with anima.
We all, you know, shine on, we all said.
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