Poetry

Assemblage on Kim and the Buffalo & Panagyric

by Christopher Prewitt

 

Assemblage on Kim and the Buffalo

When she kisses me, she leaves
rubies in my cheeks.
I sit here with the risen
white buffalo baby.

He forgives the man who killed him
for his pelt.
It is good to be nuzzled by the spirit.
I wish you all could feel what I feel

right now.
Between tongue and roof
the blueberry’s juices are everywhere.
I love my now purple teeth.

I feel that I love everyone
now and the sky isn’t full
of everyone who told me
I’d be sorry.

This is the precious fortune, the secret poorly kept.
I sat once miserable

for a job interview (eating rocks) and watched
men outside the boss’s door
trying to get a golf ball into a red plastic cup.
I thought in my short time this is

what I’ve done:
I’ve made my resume my gospel.
But my resume is not my gospel—
this is.

 

Panegyric

There is so much to love
I don’t care
how stupid
or pointless
I sound

Four legged animals with soft bellies forever
Heavy blue and red curtains that keep out the sun forever
The light of the Citgo on the county line at night forever
Synth pop and trip hop forever
Nicanor Parra forever

Sugary glazed pastries with strawberry mostly sometimes winter forever
Sweet chewable vitamins forever

I could go on
I will

Soft kisses at first forever
Then the tongue gets involved and it’s magic forever
New Year’s confetti in the pockets of a tweed jacket forever
My dad winking smiling and bumping my fist forever

The red guitar and someone to play it forever
Carbonated soft drinks forever
Maria Bamford forever

Driving away from Blacksburg forever

What else
What else
What else

Everything
Almost
everything

League of extraordinary gentlemen forever
That rainy Tuesday afternoon in October 2011
with my cat sleeping a mechanical pencil
and a one subject notebook forever

Yokohama, California forever
Skeletal Lamping forever

Kim making me a better man forever
a little braver
more forthcoming
with my imitation moonlight

Everyone else
seriously
check the liner notes
I’m kidding
where your names are written
that greasy stone (organ)
I need it
to pump blood

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Christopher Prewitt is a writer from southern Appalachia. His poems, fiction, and reviews have appeared in The Four Way Review, the NewerYork, The Cafe Ireal, Ghost Ocean Magazine, Vinyl, The Iowa Review, among others. His awards include nominations for the Best of the Net anthology and the Pushcart Prize, as well as the Billie & Curtis Owens Creative Writing Award. He is a former poetry editor at Inscape and Minnesota Review. He is at work on a novel, a full-length collection of poetry, and he has a chapbook ms. under review by editorial staffs.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Angie1

photo by Angela M Campbell

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s