by Erica Mann Jong

 

Relaxing Cubist

Relaxing Cubist

Cement up to the neck

& my head packed

with unsaid words.

A gullet full of pebbles,

a mouth of cast concrete–

I am stuck

in a lovelessness so thick,

it seems my natural element.

My mouth closes

on stones.

 

Contemplation

Contemplation

Hand frozen to my chin,

my back a question mark,

my heart soldered

to its arteries,

my feet planted

in grass that cannot grow,

The Thinker ponders

ten more years of this:

a woman

living the life

of a statue.

 

Break free!

Melt the metal

Dance

Dance

in love’s cauldron,

open doors, eyes, heart,

those frozen ventricles,

those stuck tongues,

those stuttering dependencies.

 

When the statue walks,

will the world dissolve?

When she shakes her shoulder,

will the sky shrug

& skitter off in space?

 

Or will the clouds cluster

to cover her,

& the blue wind gather

at her shoulders

& the men streak by

like jet trails in the air,

utterly ephemeral?

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                              by e.e. cummings

 (ponder,  darling, these busted statues

of yon motheaten forum be aware

notice what hath remained

–the stone cringes

clinging to the stone, how obsolete

lips utter their extant smile. . . .

remark

 

a few deleted of texture

or meaning monuments and dolls

 

resist Them Greediest Paws of careful

time all of which is extremely

unimportant) whereas Life

 

matters if or

 

when the your- and my-

<a title=”iron couple” idle vertical worthless

self unite in a peculiarly

momentary

 

partnership (to instigate

constructive

             Horizontal

business. . . . even so,let us make haste

—consider well this ruined aqueduct

 

lady,

which used to lead something into somewhere)