don van vliet SINGING
INK
poetry and fine art - poem
INFRA-GRAMS
from switzerland 1987 book DON VAN VLIET *
SKELETON BREATH, SCORPION BLUSH
note: for artistic reasons i left the capitals intact
Infra-grams - that hot old woman's jams and jellies and Marmalade by the fire roasting her licked paws one cushion four toenails curled under the couch argyle across wood floors... tiger-like fur diamond patterns loops that jump through under the icebox afraid and cold in the corner hisses with ice "E's" plugs into the wall's ear... around the corner old man sits with white chin on denim collarbones inspects a lump on his thumb and groans... in the garden one pea shoot chlorophyll pod cocked open upon a yellow pulp cloth pansy panting a bee dancing in his fine yellow hair black shiny legs retreive nectar bubbling and popping on the stem... a white patent leather hand with red fingernail polish grasped the doorknob and tore off the room bled light into the dust curtains... a mouse moved three feelers and pranced into the noise open hole... broken blue Diamond match hair strings dust shining diamond pin ignited in darkness its thought loomed important to a Coke cap... "I'm home" broke up on a mahogany table... leg celery gleamed green over paper teeth eggs glued down the drainboard... a towel ran into a silver loop... knees seen under table tancloth sticks oxfords with square folded toes fell into a pool of motion... Marmalade her wet red plastic mouth clicked and winked her eaten pelt "I'm glad I don't work for a living," her black rubber mind thought... white dots that wrote and broke in liquid i found footprints in the jam and dark tiny logs dripping from a tiny eyes that small probably don't blink as much... Winkies head turned up flashed two glass explosions of blue swirling into light crimson threads on white his pupil parted by excitement childish glee registerbated on his little pink fur ears "Let's find 'em Infra-grams"... a white cane with a red tip tapped on a rubber ball that skidded dizzily into the damp black jaws... the fireplace black feather ashes blew into weightless chips that danced in black shadows crumbled into cinders the size of specks and fell deep into ink made logs... a rawboned old woman a knife stuck into a mayonnaise body spread and after it went onto a piece of bread and into her mouth... blue flannel arms hugged her up... one powder blue heel chipped against like a fat white spider a plastic shoe that made a mouth "What're you eating, old woman?" it smeared on my cheeks and made me look like a clown... "Boy you can't catch that mouse they're slippery little grey clouds of speed and they can see where you'd never be able to see"... total darkness falls and tiny eyes look out of a dark holed area -
what's that little boy's name?
what's that little boy's name?
what's that little boy's name?
don van vliet 1987
*
you might be
interested in the other poems from the book:
gil
the tired plain
odd jobs
seam crooked sam
a tin peened reindeer
three months in
the mirror
captain
beefheart electricity