from tacky

Christopher Mulrooney




 squijum

 

what if these were angels of good order

the house swept clean the ardor of a cloudy day

and the drops of rain solace for your tears

a kind of official sanction then for loving

in the Christian sense the Summa Theologica

 

sparkling

 

you can inject it or let it ferment

so that they ripen yeasty bubbles

fine as mint in a julep that’s all

consider in a cavernous fountain

grottoed the nixie of the spring

 

etude

 

the figures of the fingers played rapidly

over the strutting keyboard you were marshaled

in several tiers or strata all at once

the cascade or wasserfall the long climb

in aëry liveliness to become a cloud

 

patrol

 

ever watchful ever vigilant not like Purcell’s

Aeneas ever gentle ever smiling and the cares

of life beguiling just the Night Watch

going its rounds in a cosmopolitan city

rebuking Rembrandt even if he slips

 

a wee colloquy

 

leave us not forget so please you

what strife we are in says the soldier in the cartoon drawing

aye says his bearded likewise chum ‘tis so

we might abandon us to the heights of high phantasy

did we not recall that foxes have holes and so do we

 

Epimetheus

 

afterthoughts that long lingering look behind

smokily reflected in the glass perhaps the neverwhich

whateversome trait you were kind seeking out of only

six or seven tread figures in the soft pavement at the height of summer

will be divined in a police laboratory after the fact long after

 

bucket seats

 

the latest canopy of driving in the rain at one o’clock

in the morning noon or night not the springy pew of a buckboard bench

more like a folded lap that sometimes left out in the cold

bristles up a bit when first approached but lets out steam like a sigh