Wednesday, 14 December 2022

Five Poems by Livio Farallo




 

outback

 

if i find a kangaroo

on a ragged cliff somewhere, crying

and somnolent and

        gnashing its teeth, i will

sell it a

pack of cigarettes, unbreathable and tasty,

like anchovies packed in oil.

i won’t forget that feet swimming

                                          through dark faucets

are simply night

       blaming adulthood for

cracking puberty like crab legs. and in the

morning,

                 the dull cadence a billabong beats

like

a clock, fries like a rasher of indecision;

ovulates like a monotreme. and though buoyancy

renders you

               unable to walk, gravity will

sever your arms at the shoulder

and flying

       becomes impossible.

     i remember that superstition

                                    is a child never fed.

that the soil

        of daydreams is buttressed with earth-

                                                                   worms and singing

                                                                                        wombats,

pliant like buttons but

                                 irreversible as spells.

and in the nearness, a line of houses stitched together by lawns and

repetition

is a scar on a

purulent cadaver i’ll never mourn.

 

 

lay of the land

 

it was too bright on the

steppes; there was an unlaunched sun.

small beetles ran

          stupidly into every

          shadow

          that got in their way

          and

lost themselves, drowning in

                              an ocean.

graves undug and spindly

like match sticks, unruddered,

were simply a litter of newborns

that spread like

                      an oil slick.

 

this is alopecia: a dead lake

pulls the valley with it as it

         evaporates, and locks

that could make water disappear,

race around

like magicians laughing, twirling moustaches.

 

i meant to tell her

                    that trolleys still

ran in the street, even though

tracks had been

                    buried by steaming asphalt

                                                        years ago.

i meant to tell her

that sidewalks are

                           never

too

hot to

walk barefoot, and gyrfalcons

live

in the tundra on

ice cover as

      scattered as grapeshot.

but, steppes have nothing to do with

temperature and neither does she.

                                                               i forgot

                                                               days that

crept into attic cupboards;

a carpet

of wheat burned beyond watering. but remembered

an ohio bluetip match 

              that fired like a paralyzed nephew

of the sun.    

 

.

climate dream

 

whatever layer of

                            atmosphere you choose to inhabit

                            doesn’t

matter when

gravity is sprinkled from a

                                            thimble

                                            and the land

it falls

on is littered with sap and ancient blood

percolating into

                             bedrock.

                     water has nothing to do but

fake

buoyancy and support crabs or

wipe

its feet

on the shore. and my lungs have

                                       splintered

like

wooden crates lowered

                            to squid depths;

my hair has

ignited, reaching

sky baked in rain. forget

                                the sun and

icarus: he begged like a fool.

             he imitated pain.

now,

in one cloud, water is drawn out of extinction.

you can visit a pocket

if your bite goes that far or

your head

returns like a pinwheel: like

                                           a whirligig paints

a wave before dying at night

and

calling

itself

a breeze. i feel

                 the shivering far away that

curves the air: almost like

                           heat waves;

almost an unbonneted holiday.

and i can scream bones trephined

as clay. i can sell mad surgeries to locusts who have nowhere to rest.

if i’m lucky,

a week from tomorrow i’ll just be

                                                        getting

up.  

 

 

one last trip

 

sanguine and un-

skirted as fragile

glass and riptides

bouncing delicately,

is the coal of fascination

                   in bed-blue water,

drowning me too quickly.

 

i’ve spread marjoram

                     and

                     old lilies

on my arms. swordfish

                       have marathoned

                       like

whales. there isn’t any-

               where

holy for

         war-grade

gas and i’ve placed

a large

egg in the nest of a

                   tanager,

like a cowbird; like a

bottlebrush coaxing thin eyelashes

                                     to

fly.

 

when you’ve asked me

                                    about

                                    lemurs

i’ve paddled

              the antarctic: penguins

have fur and large eyes. they

live in trees,

                      hunt insects at night.

it isn’t that cold but, lemurs

                                      never follow.

 

now

it rains over the

                      last breath of tierra del fuego

and i

        can’t count marmosets; can’t

                                                          smile

like a summertime swing

in the park. if it wasn’t for

                      all the sundresses

gathered like cabbage; stapled

in geriatric ash, the colour of

                               my heart

would take you home. the silence

of any creature

            would be enough.         

 

 

my answer

 

i’ve been asked my impressions of teaching science

in a community college for over thirty years,

and my answer was ………………………there isn’t much hope for the human race.

 

or my observations of driving through a mall parking lot,

or listening to the drivel coming out of republican mouths,

or of the bumper sticker fare on cable tv,

or the talking and talking of individuals fully embalmed,

or the strengthening of thumbs and deterioration of minds,

or the wyatt earps who actually believe the garbage coming out of republican

mouths,

or the nuts who subsidize the salaries of professional prostitutes,

or the bang, bang, bang that never is the sound from a toy gun,

or the small girl who hasn’t known warmth of any kind, picking at the floor

with small bubbles popping on her lips….……………..and my answer is the same.

 

  

Livio Farallo is co-editor of Slipstream and Professor of Biology at Niagara County Community    College. His work has appeared or, is forthcoming, in Bindweed, Brief Wilderness, Home Planet News, Rise Up, Beatnik Cowboy, Ginosko, and others.

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