Three Poems


David Tomaloff
 About the Writer

David Tomaloff is a very important something. His work has appeared in several chapbooks, anthologies, and in fine publications such as Connotation Press, Sundog Lit, Lost in Thought, and A-Minor. He is co-author of the collaborative poetry collection YOU ARE JAGUAR (Artistically Declined Press). His latest chapbook, SLEEP, is forthcoming from Plain Wrap Press. Send him threats: davidtomaloff.com. 

IN WHICH WE ARE ALL A VERY TROUBLED ACTOR

[unreleased music from an orphanage reality show]

 

the sun went down about a half mile from here.1

we watched it settle over the houses and fall away,

 

finally, into the shoulders of every living thing around.

the rain sings insistence, sings like a tinfoil package

 

of wasps sings.2 the engine

              noise over the dim light of blind.3

 

                            you were a child actor—

                            once, you woke to the faces

                            of very old men

 

                            once, you were unable

                            to recall ever

                            having fallen asleep.4

 

a house-covering of dark-feathered bodies circle,

 

taking shifts on the rails of another family’s porch.

              an old man breathes and coincidentally catches fire.5

 

                            he says that a snow

                            will fall to reveal the taste

                            of a plan of wolves—

 

                            says, morning is the proof

                            that nothing

                            will always rise again.6

 

 

 

FOOTNOTES TO SELECTED CINEMATIC COMPOSITIONS

[from the songs of R.] _____________________________________________________________________

1. maps drawn from satellite imagery

          a) imagine, upside down

          b) , a gang of dotted stars

2. there is rhythm even in the hands of a busted clock

3. [incessant]

          a) as in american vernacular—

          b) playground theory

4. resume broadcast feed

          a) skeleton hands emerging from a kite’s cocoon

5. sequence remains unexplained

6. a kind of featureless mask,

          a) traditionally sewn into the rafters of an estate

 

 

 

EXECUTION SONG

[weapons to water]

 

dimmed in the drizzle of dusk, I raise

a hand to calm the old teething waves.

 

I set my thoughts to the sway, my heart

sloshing red in time

to the lapping

of the blue foam & green.

 

nothing is forever,

is a weapon

I pull from my waistband,

 

                   guiding it across

 

         my horizon

& then down like a dead,

sinking mast.

 

I hold the old horse fixed

in my gaze, punch three slugs

into the starboard

side of my conscience—

 

I release the dogs of harrow,

fire eagles into an antediluvian sea.