Mary-Marcia Casoly





light rain
blue wheels spinning
the middle of the road
eye to the distance
the other side of a bridge
beneath a hood
was a beak
or was it a flute
side to side
the crow with a cigar maybe
someone threw
a rock
into a pile of sand
lodging there
a moon

With Woden

She desires his desire
beneath her cloak
she remembers wandering down into the river
any day now the ship will be on the horizon
and nothing lacks with the sea
she’s sure he’ll be returning
to hear the poem whispering in her ear
too far gone to hope it’s a worthy enough exchange
back to a more comfortable place
she feels her dreams sutured
she’s been feeding crows
it quiets her heart
there are stones in her pockets
bits of hard bread that’s she’s soaked with vinegar
when the wind speaks it is asking
to get back to a certain place
but the crow has the last laugh
white is the color that evokes light that stimulates
a flight of fancy
crow likes her bread, gulps
nothing can whitewash his glee
the extreme end of the visual spectrum
Mercury was quick and eloquent

Restless Comes to Mind

Ideas, ladies and gentleman in the rest home: the shy, timid thief
has pick pocked near everything that mattered or so it seemed

life spills and soaks excited: drab becomes brighter
spines tingling: pickpocket near everything

gulp down a big one, sell it to the manager who tucks
their minds away questing but resisting: her heart bleeds sunset

A thick wallet stashed in his back pocket. What mattered
or seemed so at the time: go it alone

If I ever get back that way again, oh the things I’ll say!
How you laughed: old world glory, spin the world globe

I’ll say and I’ll take stock of that window dressing
It’s just the simple study of attendance: gulp down a big frothy

Parade novelty. Man, if I ever get that way again why
write in your notebook: stained glass, house sparrow. Sine die

We’ll move to the mountains, follow the path
unable to cut it short, pure and simple, unable to cut it

Sold it to the manager: worthless
Plain spill and soak job. Car wash. Daylight is and never was—

Excite the reunion. Heart bleeds sunset.
City of birth kept within the particulars of the self: protean.

Unable to cut it short. Remember who tucked it inside his thick
diet. EPIGraphy: inscriptions mystically etched upon your organs.

Striking the volley ball. Seems way off the mark,
off whack, just as you moved to burst out

the scene changed. Boy if I ever get back this way again.
The party spilled out onto the street at 6 AM. All of us 19-20 years old.

Daybreak gorgeous, walked to a place, we all had coffee. Nothing like
that camaraderie. Memory. Then you think wait, I’ll only be a minute.

But, they’re gone. Beautiful enough to hear the compass
bird singing: ragweed canvas tying threads twine. Go it alone.

Do you have a good sense of direction? Where’s the south
corner? Magic. It can happen that way. Stop in and see me anytime

all the things I’d say! Replace the cross out of board.
Buy the house a drink! The place you said, that was the thing.

Adulation proud and clapping. Window dressing
TV antennas, dial tones, Kukla, Fran and Ollie.

Innocent. You meant the stray cat can’t always find tuna.
Oh I know! Shopping mall parade. Advertising copy.

Transaction of words, language as staged detour.
Drab becomes bright, spine tingling. Red fountain circular

swivel seats. Spin cycle. If I ever get that way again
I would buy flowers for strangers on the street.

Remember the quick speak easy. I’d move mountains
just to follow your meaning home. You mean expect nut cake.

Expect raisins. Don’t expect every little thing to
follow you back for heaven; when the old coyote howls.

Somewhere A Madman Shoulders The World

Shoulders the world nowhere
A master at flight and years breathing dust

So logical is his voice the sleeping deaf hear
Missing his drought and those sweet breaches

only his sack of nine tails suffers into this sack of mine
the monitor lizards witness the take over

long and short sweet branches burst elsewhere into white multi-verses
they chucked blossoms out just as un-necessary stones

Yesterday’s stool pigeon is tomorrow’s Gaza Lizard
Form a line, cough a little, break the windshield

Ambulance situations are in situ and bleed rubber
the windshield wipers are unemployed due to lack of rain

Start thumbing a ride with your outdated yellow pages
For the journalist inability to pinpoint the Colorado cross

Newsprint bleeds through to the next door
Fill out a form, form a line, cough a little caterpillar

Tests of the outsource applications quadruple
The quotidian cowers to find invisible exits

Paper airplanes sour through the window ever more amusing
the villagers gasp for another single word

A view of the bemused window washer working his ropes floors above ground
The madman logically becomes a sack of nine.

So much to be seen in one visit, one shout.
Start thumbing through your outdated yellow pages.

This morning is unemployed due to banished afternoons
Today the stool pigeon ambulance speeds up, looses control

Crashes; is arrested for mis-use of useable space
Time slows the way a cat laps milk from a saucer

Time of the vice squad clips on his gun, gets the game assaulted
stands in the way, reading the public eye

Let nothing in the public eye bleed sublime
Advance reviews of the massacre have fallen short of predictions

Songs are torn out from outdated yellow pages.
Information itself becomes its best informant.

Nothing more need bleed into the next oval office
How sublime this litmus test of current events

Copyright © 2012 Mary-Marcia Casoly

Mary-Marcia Casoly is a member of the steering committee of Waverley Writers, a Palo Alto poetry venue and is the editor of their magazine Fresh Hot Bread. She is the author of Run to Tenderness,(Pantograph Press and Goldfish Press) Lost Pages of Bird Lore (Small Change Series WordTemple Press) and her chapbook Australia Dreaming appears in Ahadada Reader 3, (Ahadada Press) available at Small Press Distribution, Berkeley CA.