Alisa Heinzman
Two Poems
Them Waving at Cameras
One headless man
is no big deal but
ten headless men
is a blinding snag.It’s not about minding
so much as wising up
to the situation.Torsos are good
to breed words and spread deeds
but headless we wander.The bodies are all around.
You, sir, have no head
and you, sirs,
haven’t either.Should be sniffing ether
but you stand here
on the lawn.
Outside/Inside
It’s the warble of
the way we follow warmth,
the absence that gathers
concurrent with long curtains.Come inside and show me how it’s said,
where the going sound stops
like smelt tin, near stiff.Let’s arrest this adulterous procession—
get us a room, a prayer.
I’m built of lean chains, a forgery.
Each attempt at introduction jogs forgetting,this is I’ve forgotten how
the soil slumps homeward.
All days machine this way—
maimed and loamy.
