Two Poems – Joseph V. Milford
I am not your postmodern friend.
Shaman in your cloud is not my
Credit fraudman. Stun-gun and rubber
Bullet and imp lamentations vs. polyester
Coffins you erect in. Vociferous was
A light touch for you. You hung yourself
From the afters. From the four X befores.
I could not behoove it. Fibers of forensics
And junkyards in orbit. The toothpicks made
From the splintered pulpits. Contracts
To the cosmos signed in floods. Layered
With ilk to the quick. I want to strip you
Down to the hone. I want to slaptize
You. I want to call you all the names
Of reptile pets. I want you to develop
Your internal muscles by Hegeling.
I cast a shadow over the mooncrater
Of your sad birth. Toss candybar wrapper
And soda bottle in it. Walk towards
A better view of the earth, something
With less gravity.
Once there was an obelisk.
Men desired to climb it.
It was sharp on top.
No place to perch.
Men tried to climb and sit on it
For centuries and bled.
This was called war.
Men climbed it and
Jumped from its peak
Counting the seconds as they fell,
And this was called science.
Some who sat at the bottom
Convinced other men to climb it;
That was religion.
The first poets
Drank the blood dripping
From the obelisk and made a tongue.
Then the obelisk
A compass rose.
It is only fitting
That we write
Staring agog, wondering
How to make
A better model.
Joseph Victor Milford is a Professor of English and a Georgia writer. His first collection of poems, Cracked Altimeter, was published by BlazeVox Press in 2010. He is the host of The Joe Milford Poetry Show, a co-founder of BACKLASH PRESS, and the editor of RASPUTIN: A Poetry Thread (a literary journal of poetry).