Adam Henry Carrière
"I wanna go the rodeo,"
skin-and-bones with the buzz cut said
over the rustle of his sighing bags
of denim, lowering to the sawdust
and the popcorn-stained t-shirts
upholstering pierced nipples
in the low tax bracket of rented love
and vermillion sands,
like saliva entering the young
body's old life in dollar-shaped drops.
Only those things are beautiful which are inspired
by madness and written by reason.
Illumination, emptying into the spirits
beside the ruddy moon,
hiding in ancestors.
High school yearbooks echo
pulp and stone
prayer cards written in radiance,
tongues other than Rome's.
rumble and clatter
of the wind's sartorial dusk
Mozart sweetens the blood I sip like wine
inexpressibly unaccompanied. No soft lighting
hides such unimportance.
The only symbol left is pulpy ink
I sleep, heedless and uncovered,
I woke up and fell out of bed,
about to touch a mother’s son
I hadn't seen in any adulthood:
This life-like dream, when I laid
a hand on his unspoken elation;
the rainy sundown we slept in,
where I underwent his breathing
in a union-labeled city
concentrating in the same Catholic
Foolish twosome, wisely knowing
minds ne’er straightened
Boy Scout whispers
and Marine sobs
more truthful lies on the subject
puberty’s under-the-sheets tattle.
By God's amused grace
some videotaped evidence exists
that the two of us met at all.
Watching it heart-broke my delirium
while a cold search engine spits out
a handful of lines, drained
our once upon the other.
Occasions in later lonesomes can't skew that.
The over-rating of orgasm
has become a national sport
unreported by battalions
of chattering magpies,
whose tenured myopia
feeds the prerogatives of egos
too spongy to finger.
The thought thieves
neither sweat nor groan
when their pallid thighs
open and mistake complacent
satisfaction with quality sodomy,
when warm fluids teach an uncorrupted mind
how to swallow, and a good lay passes
with much notation for clemency.
Seeing Fables in the Ceiling Fan
The last moon smiled
in paternal crescents, unstirred
by wind neither fields nor stock miss.
Up and down, walking
between dreams, orange streetlights
setting the closed curtains aglow,
the bareness of the other
side of your bed tip-toeing
through a night gone astray
by time’s womb-weary whim.
...from Rhododendrons of the Sea
available in quality paperback exclusively on Amazon.com
from Hammer & Anvil Books
Adam Henry Carrière is an online habitué specializing in letters, publishing design, and instruction. A former NPR broadcaster, he holds a BA in Film & Video from Columbia College and an MA in Professional Writing from the University of Southern California. He has taught writing at both his alma mater and for the United States Navy across the Pacific. Born on the South Side of Chicago, Adam resides in Las Vegas, where he has won the Nevada Arts Council Fellowship in Poetry. He styles as Verleger / Herausgeber of Danse Macabre, Nevada’s first online literary magazine, and DM du Jour, its daily gazette. He is the author of Miles, its sequel Shant, and the poetry collections Faschingslieder and Rhododendrons of the Sea.