The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review
littlereview

Poem for Thursday


The Book of the Dead Man (#29)
By Marvin Bell


1. About the Dead Man and Sex

The dead man lowers standards, ha ha, sinking, steadily sinking.
The dead man is jovial ha in the tide pool peaceful zzz among the tubers thoughtful
     uh uh in the basement ho ho creating humph humph the foundations of
     modern thought.
The dead man throws fuel on the fire.
The dead man throws in spoonerisms, being lone bonely, he gathers the wordless
     words, the articulation of knee jerks and other reflexive gestures, the spill
     of an orgasm.
He puts in the whoosh, the ssss, the ahhh and oh oh oh.
He is hot for the body, heaping moan on moan.
The dead man is the outcome of ecstasy, everyone knows it and wants more.
The dead man's lapidary but orgasmic, nothing new there.
The dead man is the depository of fixed form, the vault for a cool customer, safe
     harbor, still he loves the juiced-up joining in the midst of love.
The dead man lets the clock expire to be there.
He is a sponge that never dries, absorbing the dark water.
Omigoodness, the dead man does things.

2. More About the Dead Man and Sex

The dead man speaks the lingo of sizzle, the grammar of quickened breathing, he
     states the obvious: more is more.
To the dead man, the new moon is a rounded promise of romance.
The dead man's wounded moon heals over each attempt to explore her and comes
     again to flirt in the dark.
The dead man's understanding of the moon goes well beyond her face.
It travels beyond her light side, reaching around blindly but with faith.
The dead man seeks the becalmed, the held, the immobilized in himself and
     sets it free.
Therefore the dead man studies the day sky to see the early moon.
He knows the moon is the better half of himself, that he is incomplete without her,
     and he cradles her on his brow as she rises.
All these things the dead man does and more.

--------

ribby said the other day's excerpt from The Book of the Dead Man creeped her out, so I decided to post another one, because this one is pretty unforgettable.

Went to the dermatologist, which given my family history almost always means minor excisions -- this time I had a bump on the base of my skull right below my hairline that I wanted him to look at because I can't see it even with multiple mirrors. He thought looked utterly benign, but he didn't like the way a mole on my back looked since the last time he saw it, and since he was already getting out the novocaine and scalpel to remove that, we agreed that he should remove the one on my neck as well. Now I have stitches that need to be snipped in a couple of weeks and my back is pain-free but the bandage on my neck keeps catching my hair and itches. I only remembered to call the dermatologist when I went to find the gastroenterologist's card for my follow-up appointment, and I hadn't been in for more than a year, so being superstitious I now think maybe I got the stomach thing because I really needed to have that mole removed because otherwise I would have joined the many people my family who have had melanomas. I am sure this is paranoid insanity but hee, it allows me to believe that I was ill for a greater cause.

I know I have been horrible with subjecting everyone to health updates this month and it goes on -- Friday I have to go get a CBC for the gastroenterologist, and he wants to see me again in a few weeks, and the day I get the stitches out my younger son has an orthodontist appointment...fun! And really nothing else of any interest happened to me today; my beloved alma mater Penn lost convincingly to Duke, my older son announced that he did not want to go to his Hebrew school sleepover this weekend and threatened a boycott of the entire family if we made him, my cat decided that I had not fed her recently enough and threatened a boycott of my ability to do any work if I did not cooperate...heh.


Minnesota Memorial and cannons.


Position occupied by the 155th Pennsylvania Volunteers.


The Lincoln memorial inside the gates of Gettysburg National Cemetery.
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Son's school chorus winter concert is tonight, meaning that we have to get there very early because he has to be there more than an hour in advance and things will be chaotic. Parents and in-laws are all coming. And I'm not allowed to shower because I can't get the incision sites wet for 24 hours! I feel sorry for whoever sits next to me. *G*
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