brant goble

WEEPING WOMAN

1.                                          [after Picasso]
   

Excoriated face, fleshed out in rictis.

Out of their lid cups, eyeballs spalling.

Tears, nine inch worms. Knobs of tears

on the spikes of cries.  Dora Maar

flounder-eyed with finger-bitten knotted

handkerchief. Sausage-fat Dora

fingerpillars burrowing facial faults.

The garbage of her face filling with glass.

Whose face is at tug-of-war in my face?

Is it you Mater Dolorosa?

“Malaga, how I am weeping!

Malaga, how I weep and weep!”

PARADE

Mr. Wheelhead in top hat with feather-fiery fuse.

He’s blind. He leads the parade.

Rolling in place, he’s followed by Mr. Tenpinhead,

paintbrush hair, legless

on rusted turned-sideways wheels.

He’s got a flag on a tall wire, stiff in no wind.

Childhood frozen like a goofy parade.

Toys as a form of sleep’s wheeled yet wooden gestures.

With stump arms too short to reach the steering wheel, 

Mr. Gnome is driving the Caged Animal Truck.

Mr. Nearlyalllegs is a white, striped, split pole,

glove hand on a long arching stick.

Each toy a cartoon of our wandering about

1.    Hotel Kendall’s lobby, buffet-breakfast bound.
   

All of us on wheels that don’t belong,

all of us shadowed by a tall gown-billowing lady

1.    thrusting up her parasol. She too is on wheels, 
   

2.            mouth a smeared yawn.
   

  

1.                              [Cambridge MA, 21 October 2007]
   

                                               

heller levinson