Christopher Davis
2 Poems
Outside Art
Inside Sex World, it’s hot and mute.
Amyl nitrate dumped on the cold floor
singes the air.My eye wanders wildly,
a god flaming within me wanting
simply to stand shirtless in the sun,his twin bright eyes shining
on the strong brown rippling
Mississippi, a boat shootingfrom the shadows of the leaves under the bridge,
a church group tossing gnawed bones into a tray,
the emptiness of the experience of the experience.In dorm rooms across America, dumb and dumber
hurt each other, limp lizards, faggot maggots, ugly
slugs, the four forlorn flipped pill bugs of eye contact.Under anger, mother wept, there’s always fear.
An albino catfish nudges a deep sea diver
kicking open a chest of glittering treasure.In a meadow, behind gray rocks, a girl giggles, gluing
purple sequins all over the clay bust of a baby, trying
to fix images of man. I believe I stink like a burrito.
Orpheus in Haemus
Reader, on your fake marble throne,
are you even capable of empathy
with one so downtrodden as he?Through the partition’s glory hole,
he begs you to give him love
or at least glance at his snapshot:in a red see-thru muumuu, his ex throbbed.
He weeps the perfect poet must feel flawed.
The masses will entrap this eunuch, tearingout his tongue, he
cheerful, hearing
from the flawed.