Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he’s been active for several years in the small presses as writer, artist, poet, and editor of his lit-‘zine ART:MAG. His recent sci-fi horror novel, Eye of Aliena, is an Amazon ebook. Nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his latest poetry books are Go to the Pain Lovers (Duck Lake Books), The Underground Movie Poems (Horror Sleaze Trash), and Night Pictures from the Climate Change (Cyberwit.net).
X Marks the Spot
The days breed a forlorn pallor In the forest of our beings, where nothing reaches us But the low fires of passion Still stirring the red coals branding us. Come to me tonight, lady of Las Vegas There’s the ellipsis of the golden verb Entrapping us inside your psychic carotid, Where the carnage of poetry bleeds out Daily from mother earth’s domestic felons Freed from the police line-up, they flee Life’s ongoing fashion show remnants While running nude through supermarkets Debating Original Sin, quoting statistics & dressed like alien harlots I run with them too, but I’m too old For racy conversations in the trailer park Where penis envy is as extinct as penmanship. Freud does not exist here, only the reality shows Where the deer & the antelope procreate In Gen Z’s nerdy fairy tales: Yet still I’ll ask you, what it’s like Piercing your face with stitching needles Seeing false northern lights in specks of broken glass Before deadbeat poets reveal themselves?
Self-Portrait as Van Gogh
(Drawing the Arboreal Shade)
Where the shape of time disintegrates Where your breath enraptures nothingness Where I want to go tonight Armed with camcorder & sketchbook My blood-tears On the breadth of temporal pine trees Grouped as hour-hands, blue-canopy sky Noir crows navigate now In spellbound eyes of unseeing gods & children drawn to wells of dirty rain Seeping gum-like from the natural Wall of impenetrable trees I see the coming of light painted On a sunless wing unfolding itself Over the first promised land
The word is all you know, the letters circumambulating Through the trees they came from chasing you Beyond the intellectual crevices Into the full feelings of existence. The words were what you first heard In the silent wilderness Of infancy, The initial moments of seeing the symbols Etched on the earth’s surface you’d impress With scribbled chalk lines These sentiments to graffiti’s realm In the full flight into knowledge from the word Came the artist’s hand you wielded brush with, Came the image of the word transforming Yourself into a communicator with what The dumb silence could not hold. Now you draw the letters into a cursive design, One after the other, cutting into the tree’s trunk The initials of the great artist Planting it & the letters of spirit in your mind ….