Tony Nozero © 2010 All Rights Reserved
Fill my mouth with greedy spices
and my mind with riddles
that let their question marks run off leash.
Make me bored with too much springtime
and giddy when the nights fill up with sirens.
Introduce me to the stranger of my body
during power surges and blackouts.
Read to me from nineteenth-century novels
by the memory of candle light.
Bring me news of midnights that canít sleep
and islands off the coast of no where
and Republics that canít cry when it rains.
Show me my face in a lemonwood tree.
If you say it is there, then it is there, isnít it?
when you lead me to a lighthouse in a squall
when the moonlight chokes on kelp and brine
that you will tell me how beautiful the night is.
And tell me how nouns, nouns will function
when a city has no use for its phenomena.
after Andrew Wyeth
So often in our orchard I
made a study of you
a windfall apple:
your tentative reach from behind
the thick, splayed branches;
your coat shining in the winter light;
nose nearly touching
the red of the fruit;
The day after I made this I saw
you strung up and gutted
in my neighborís barnó
the after-image of a deer-jacking.
Nose so close to the hay floor,
pooling beneath it.
I shuddered: red again
just out of reachó
my rendition of you:
you'll never eat;
the bare tree.
Copyright © 2010
Robert Martin, a one-time ventriloquist, altar boy, expert rock-skipper and newtist, has a B.A. in English Literature from U.C. Santa Cruz and has acted as the coordinator of educational programs at SF State since 1989. Martin published his first book of poems in August 2008 entitled the Carrier.
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