Three poems by Burgess Stanley Needle

Three poems
by Burgess Stanley Needle

CAT FOOD, FRESH FRUIT, YEAST AND PSILOCYBIN

                        
a scrap-of-life-list starting
with the one who cares least              unless ignored
a random pile in a red bowl       color alone
            reminiscent of the kiln
and fleischman’s fine powder that promises
life will rise again
some dried strands and a few buttons 
            for a visa to skip
out of a flat black & white 
dimension            
oh god                        is that my wrinkled face
in the bathroom mirror 
my lover’s sweet voice from another space
whatever you do don’t look in the mirror
too late 
i am indeed the oldest man in the world
            but also              the wisest
            so it’s okay
that all is vibration
the wall            my skin            the mirror            
able to become whatever i wish        i choose
            every wisp of kindness and love
            every exhaled atom of carbon
                        incandescent I explode out
                        i am you
i am you            my cat says
feed me
so I feed her              eat the fruit                make bread
good trip she asks
the greatest i say             
lord                 smell that bread

=====================

YOU IN THE KITCHEN

                         
What did you say about my breasts?
I said 
your high energy makes you a blur
leaving no film on my retinas
nothing to cloud a memory as I retreat
from you ricocheting sink to stove

You ask            This chilli too hot?
too much lemon on the salad?
 
you’re so snappy --
br...rr..rraaaaannnnnnn....nging around rooms
as if just released by new suspenders
without your contact lenses
round-eyed in rusty granny glasses 
you slow to a Victorian stereoscope
you in the kitchen become
some youthful Ma’am from the gay 90’s
which is when I said
put the contacts on your nipples
for an art-deco effect
and look at ME soft and slow through oval rims
there
now we both are 20:20
and our frames click before we kiss

+++++++++++++++++++

SOME POMPEI DEJA-VU

                                                                                    The Etruscan woman sipped mulled wine
Into future dreams seemingly worse
            than peacocks literally
            having their hues flamed to ash.
She startled her lover whose hand was drifting
           to a pubic damp by suddenly sitting up
            in night’s caress            gagging in fear
What, my love                        what comes to you            
            she was unable to tell him of voices roaring
            from iron shells 
            green circles turning red
 patterns of light blinked
DON’T WALK   DON’T WALK
Trailing bed clothes she pulled
            her hair and only then saw
            bright magma easing her way
Ash blew in open spaces and heat
            beyond imagination embraced
            their forms until a millenium later
They were found
hands entwined 
            eyes only for each other
Blindly indifferent to mere spectacle.

Author bio:

Burgess Stanley Needle is a Tucson poet whose work has appeared in the The Hiss Quarterly, Origamicondom, Kritya (India), Zafusy (UK), Black Mountain Review (UK), Free Verse, Concho River Review, Gutter Eloquence, Thirteen Myna Birds, Red Fez, Raving Dove, Autumn Sky, Blackbox Manifold, Poetry Monthly International, and Iodine. Current projects include: working on a journal he kept as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Thailand. Back in the day, Burgess made a name for himself in a few Tucson middle school libraries as a somewhat scary Edgar Allan Poe impersonator. He was co-editor of a poetry quarterly, Prickly Pear/Tucson and co-facilitator with the Summer Institute of the Southern Arizona Writing Project. Dimunuendo Press will publish a collection of his poetry in 2010. He promises to respond to any e-mail sent his way: bbneedle@cox.net.