Chris Arnold

from sing out when you want me

there were these poems
like bats
they come at night

flap vain above my whore-bright hair
penless I fight sleep
the shapes

reach fruitless just that
inch too short
and out of ink

fourth stanza
gone you
fleeting bastards get the pen before you sleep

I think

from Water Music

In the end, of course, he got married
to himself. A civil ceremony, nothing too glib, a friend
or two, a reporter from The Mirror, the odd flame
from the past, a waiter with icy water:
his watery parents, a little perplexed, looking around,
confused because no engagement had been announced.

The celebrant was vague, her words left an eerie
echo, she quickly left. Nobody spoke. At last, he escorted
himself into the Bridal Suite: nervous, a little beery,
he sat there blushing on the edge of a single bed.

from A Chance of Seasons

there are stairs to take
and steps to consider, after all
the slender things we are
stars can wait a little longer
distance must be reached
love is met on the landing
(a demon black cat flashes
past, between our future legs)
we recognize each other
one going up the other down
we hardly have time to speak
platitudes of stairs and star
a bad day ahead of us or behind
a meeting later, always later

from chalk borders

a lap for children
cover for bruised knees
pocket for safety pins
flower cuttings
catcher of stains and tears
patchwork gala of pain
where the peels curled
you fronted up for work
fronted up for work
the tie tightened
hand behind
thread
finger knot
here  where I hid my face