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Maxfield Parrish
Eileen Myles
Often I turn on people
in rather strange &
inexplicable ways.
The source of
the irritation
escapes me.
It always has.
Sometimes
my heart just
opens and
all the lions
get called
back to some
other corner
of the cave.
You'd probably
laugh at the
flowers I
bought tonight.
Bluish purple
& they don't
even have
a name, "Name?"
pronounced the
man at the
fruit stand
he shook
his head
and laughed.
These purple
flowers have
no name. &
no smell. But
the room s
smelled & looked
different when
I brought them
in with me.
For instance
I was gentle
with their
stems while
I thought
about how
many lovers
have told
me I'm
rough. These
are hearty
thick stems
yet I slipped
the elastic
off their
limbs as
if I were
a servant
undressing
the president's
child. Just
thinking of her
for once. Oddly
alive & being
touched by
me in this
practical way.
The whole thing's
off-kilter the
way my purple
flowers grow.
Something that
makes sense
in February.
I have enough sense
to buy flowers
now. But such
strange ones.
Sprayed. Their
eerie color
is not real.
At least not all of it.
Maybe none of
it. The eerie
little branches
from which
piney green leaves
grow & I guess
that's real. But
the 287,
no I mean
thousands
of faintly blue bells
I can hardly see
I must be getting old
up close they make me feel dizzy
the fineness, the wealth of this pseudo-life
tiny balls, pale blue
with a sliver of a tongue
sticking out or sometimes
everything's teeny & sexual
it's sort of like underpants
a cover or case
hat's purple & the little
ball is blue.
I don't know why this wave
of a plant belongs in my vase.
I needed something fake to
start me up. Something
I could be gentle
with just to try.
Looking hard I say Baby
I don't know why I can
give you everything
& I'm dazzled by your frown.
lingo 5
 Books in print by Eileen Myles
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An audio excerpt (204K)
