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Brian Dean Bollman – 2 Poems

Brian Dean Bollman
2 Poems
Sock

drive
mother
of Edinburgh
green lover
slouch     you slouch
mother     green    mother
green    lie
in wait     past fear weather
cold morning in June
brother
June    how’s house sitting
pretty      mother
young mother where
ceiling meets winter where
blouse meets skin where
house sits green where
your brother lives     a
cold morning clear old southern
California suburb mother
sticks to memory like church     and      you can’t tell
because you don’t know
You     just don’t know what your dream is
you  drive
you turn the corner
and there are several words
in order that
mean something      to you
      asleep         now
they shift shape     and     you get up
and  you can think of
a blouse with a woman’s skin
in it     a blouse that opens
not that you are thinking
of it    open
but it could       open
it is the open-able aspect of it that compels
a ceiling
and old suburban neighborhood
with its concrete retaining
and low     morning sun memories of unwanted church



Afternoon Break

Lying in
my car thinking

  of a woman with big
eyes who looked
  with skin clear

that smooth ashen
dark hair against

and yet not pale
    her lips a fleshy
 umber an exaggerated

cupidity fawnish
      startled I imagine
    kissing her trying

        to cipher the experience
large lips around
         a small mouth
     she seems to suit

                       further
         beneath her shirt
        my arms
                         back
                                     and they seem to
                                                 fit

a woman

opens the door

invites me
into a long

corridor leading into

the inner basement of
the library

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