junkmail oracle

spring
i s s u e

2002

poems

 

christina dutton
christine dutton works and resides in northampton, mass. she is active in the local poetry scene and reads her work at fire & water. her work has appeared in room of her own.

Works on this page:
the process
meditation cubicle
bad girl
repression manifest

 

The process

The word
sawdust
The word
flame
The word
rambling
The word
branches
The word
skin

when I wake up smell in the signature
morning, I perk the crabs coffee.
synapse to flavor synapse over
connecting

suddenly, I reach for the knife, I must
end the suffering words.
instead I crack the whip only that
much harder

Flow
I say
Meat
I say
Drive
I say
Write
I say
I say
I say
I say
I don't write
I say

I say
I am a poet
I am a dreamer
I am an artist
Am I?
Am I

I hear the teakettle
I must see something
I smell the garbage
I must see something

I climbed to the top
I saw the overlook
over looked the vast wilderness
over looked the small particle
nothing to press between the pages
and not one, not one drop of ink

I drop down
hands and knees
roll in the shit
cover and smear
cover and smear
cover and smear
until I come clean

 

Meditation cubicle

I lie upon the snake charmer
for the truth
through selfishness
by subconscious
into conscious
our unity

praise me
like the mind of
no other
to serve me and
to help me to
serve me and
my god

ending all ails
in my heart
of the matter:
that it all really
matters in many
meddling middles
beneath the surface

centered is
the dog chanting
in circles
chasing fallen dreams
in syncho-pyscho-pathic
chant-a-rhythm
time wasting away

choose far-flung
easy access
and directly routed
to non-meditative
crash and burn,
world over universe
in the here and now

 

Bad Girl

what is at the depths
who is at the pit of your stomach
to answer all of the
why you lay motionless
at my feet

you may be the least or most forgotten
my reason for being
and of no particular interest at all
you may be the noise and the silence
my way of seeing
and the difference between large and small

who is at the ends
what is the point of the center
to question me
while you have exploded
in need

 

Repression Manifest

To sit, still as scared
Strong as stuck
Stifled as close mouth,
Stiff grin
I said "sex"
And you are dumbfounded
I said "raw"
And you are disjointed
Turned outside in
Your own wretched pain
Your own scars
You have sewn it all up
Tight as a drum
Each thought outside the lines
Bounces off and
Makes the strangest noise
Like something unknown
So beyond conceiving,
But as if only about
"conception:
images of puritan dance in my head

your not so
hidden sneer
says you are
"wrong"
but I know better
better than shove
under the rug
down to the depths
to the rotgut of
the stomach
creating ultimate
"appropriate"
ulcerations
that rise up
and eat out
your heart

and I am
plenty annoyed,
maybe you think
send your energy
to the real
needs and politics
of this world
save the children,
but, like the bloom
children flower
and need to eat up
eat up, eat up
what is offered up
like a gift of Venus,
god rained this
body to the
earth and blessed
the power of
SEXUALITY

When I say "sex"
When I say "raw"
I say hope
That you can see
What has been
Spread out
Before you

 

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