something like that

what is a lawn if not a necktie?
a status symbol of being throttled in style
a neat new suit
that frames a beautiful dish?
dandilions are a whole other problem for the do-it-yourselfer
market on a budget
but they gassed the rabbits and starved the foxes
and re-routed the spring
for the community
what I remember most vividly about lawns from my youth
are the ornaments
fragile mirrored balls of colored glass
balanced on cement pedestals
bending you back until your head hits the sun
in their fish eye
and the little black lantern boys
frozen in slavery to light the walk way
whose faces had to be repainted crayola flesh
color in the sixties
repent! they seemed to cry in white face
their lights thrust into the darkness
day and night
slaving through week after week for the weekend
to work on the lawn
to poison it
to scar it
to see how much noise it can take
to humiliate it then gloat over it
something to boast about like that

seductions everywhere
your ears triple in length
with tales pinned to them
autumn chills the humidity
steady wind on a rock in the middle of the sea
between two greater places
that apparently take up most of the available dry air
it is spider season here and they are busy
hungry building and eating everything
smaller or unwary we can’t call this trap luck
once I tried to eat my own fingers
I was young and didn’t know what my hands were good for
it was as if pain was the checkpoint where the body
meets you officially and wants to see credentials

make the moon jealous
someday I’ll tell beautiful stories
you’ll scream even more hauntedly
in the sexy mirror
make the jealous moon hungry
to see what I see
not the face disc half-frozen in the light
hurled into its form after a fashion
from another dimension that gets physical
on visits
that last sixty or seventy years
I carry a wall to work on the nightshift
the moon can’t erase it
which makes me howl with delight

what’s the use resisting?
here it comes
the geyser
the volcanic eruption
the tilt of the axis
your infrastructure collapses
vanishes as if it was a seemingly never-ending
dream that turns itself to dream dust
silly magic that you wipe out of your eyes
while sitting on the edge of the bed
a painless dream
a garden party full of fresh air and light
the sun screwed to the blue sky forever
you are younger in a way you can’t recognise
you almost fly when you walk
the faces and flowers revolve around you
life begins to make itself felt and
the story ends

something like that

Anthony DiMichele

Friday Harbor, United States

  • Artwork Comments 2

Artwork Comments

  • evon ski
  • Guendalyn
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