Two by Corey Mesler
Starring Erica Rhodes
I wrote a new poem.
It stars that ingénue,
Erica Rhodes.
She appears in line seventeen,
kicks things around,
and is gone by the end
of the third verse. Her beauty
threatens to throw the
whole poem off balance. Her
face the face the sky would
wear if the sky were to
wear a face. The poem limps
toward an inconclusive
conclusion. Its star is gone.
The rest of the cast
do their best. The poem re-
fuses to come alive like
Persona or anything by
Frank O’Hara or
Jacques Tati.
The poem loves Jacques Tati.
Its real death occurs near
the penultimate line.
Over its spooled shoulder,
the poem looks back at
Erica Rhodes,
a wanton, stilted enthrallment,
wanting to try again with her,
as its credits roll like a
frolic of architecture.
**********************************************
Bunuel’s Car
“The man who cannot visualize a horse galloping on a tomato is an idiot.”
--Andre Breton
We are all
still in
the backseat
of Bunuel’s car.
We are still learning
his roads, his ess
curves, his juxta-
positions. We may be
eyeless, sexless,
cruel as children.
We may want only
to fuck in the mud.
We may want merely
to bite the hand
that pets us.
In the end there will
always be the
black bed.
In the end, the
crippled, Christ-like
survivors
of the animal orgy.