Poetry from Duane Vorhees

COMEDIA

Leopard, lion, and bitch-wolf

hunger for my soul. Virgil

saves me and takes me to Hell.

lovers, poets, craps players,

roisterers, and blasphemers

are assigned vicious circles.

Many of my friends are there.

They greet me with tears and prayers

and swear to elect me mayor

when I move to their precinct.

And we huddle over drinks

and brag about past high jinks.

And Virgil grows quite distraught.

He regrets what he has wrought,

and he checks his sundial watch.

“Come,” he says, “it’s time to go!”

I agree to leave, just so

I’ll be back some tomorrow.

SUN RA, NIGHT

The passion becomes precision,

silent organs suddenly articulate,

our jazz exact,

universe complete.

An ingenious engine,

gladly self-winding,

perpetrator of Being–

sex is that loving violence

that screws time’s ingedients

(wasiswillbe)

into a Reality

that’s the matheme of poetry:

the science of intimacy with

the alchemy of Romance-myth.

And of existence–

we are the masterpieces!

The electric youandme

moves together gloriously,

excalibur-in-stone machinery

that’s the index of our style,

the evidence of our skill.

Amply blest,

an amethyst,

we are the levee

against the tsunami’s

approaching closing fists–

isn’t there enough madness left?

The solution is more sex!

BODIES WE LOVE

Is that thumbsup we hold in trust

actually just a making-the-fig?

Which vistas shall we later see

as caricatures,

which oaths are mere gestures?

The withinness of the present

obscures tomorrow’s withoutnesses.

The hidden shall be open then

and the bodies we love, no longers

(and no longer even memories).

Yesterdays are the only forevers.

RELOCATING?

Della Street’s behind me,

need a new address.

Lois Lane? Is it Etta Place?

No service road can be an I-.

I KNOW MY PLACE

The metropolis and the ghost town,

the ecosystem and the city:

My world is a paradox of orthodox and strange,

an environment of blend

that reconciles divides.

The academy and the stockyard,

The industrial plant and the garden

share their universe

with quarks and galaxies.

They bridge chaos and constitution,

balance ocean mountain desert plain

glacier volcano,

combine/contain actions and emotions,

reconcile all us doubters and cowards.

The legislature and the prison,

the gymnasium and the ashram

have equal weight and heft.

They refine and define,

blur boundaries,

apportion my lot in space.

ON RETURNING HOME ANEW AFTER HALF A CENTURY

where ghosts and memories forever reign

everything/nothing is still the same

strange faces on familiar names

changed functions for famous frames

remembering unremembered chimes

but the sky! the sky remains

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