Weekend in Thanatosis
The Cantiphon
“That guy's gotta stop...he'll see us.”
Last words of James Dean
Live Fast, Die Young
L. Weisel Fracella
Drive north
past
Blackwell's Corner
to find me and James Dean
speeding through school zones
in a silver Porsche 550,
giant killer coupe,
two-body trunk.
No locals
even 'round Paso Robles
know the place,
but September nights
close your eyes or you'll miss the exit.
Turn hard right.
Jack-knife.
Flipping
end over
end,
you are air-born,
pilot of the autodrome.
At twilight-time, see city lines
constellation-shine.
Trust James,
only he knows the way.
He whispers
open your eyes, Speed Racer,
at mach-five,
we'll survive;
see the city lights
others mistake for starry skies?
The Tempest, Act III, Sc. II
Charge
Where have my dreams gone?
You have lost sixth sense of vision,
again.
None could have known
what would come replacing canary with kingfisher
of the coal mine:
black lung
black heart,
blackened eyes.
Collect:
eyes, aye, eyes
only eyes.
Clouds will open, show riches.
Make the world blind.
Meditation/Psalms
Who is this mockingbird,
fisher-of-men playing
at John the Baptist?
Fish-man, sense-assassin
game hunter from the high perch
threading hook with eye-candy bait.
No such Pacific Prophet here,
this Bishop of Bituminous
this coal-fired soul.
called:
Black Lung,
Black Heart
Blackened-Eyes.
Collect:
eyes, aye, eyes
only eyes.
Clouds will open, show riches.
Make the world blind.
Offering
Tithe:
eyes, aye, eyes
only eyes.
Render up obscene riches.
You've made the world blind.
Benediction
Go forth, in prospero,
progeny of progeny,
quarter-godhead of Setebos,
people the world with Calibans
a thousand twanging twanging instruments
crying to dream again.
Clouds will open, show riches.
Make the world mine.
Douglas Luman is a book artist currently pursuing an MFA at the University of Central Arkansas where he is an Assistant Editor for the Toad Suck Review. He is also the Book Reviews Editor for the Found Poetry Review. Follow him on Twitter: @douglasjluman
