So Long, Cy

0
April 13, 2014

by Mark Kerstetter

(after Cy Twombly)

So long
C Y
long so sigh
in all fours
solo slitherer

C E R B E R U S  C H A L K B O A R D

muddy sneakers
polished floor
a long slide

[home? no, we’re not there, i’m not there, still in school, in front of the blackboard,
writing a hundred times, get it right, godammit, this shouldn’t be hard, maybe i’m already
in hades, can’t get out, can’t outsmart teacher—bitch-breathed, serpent-ended,
omnispective and soulless.]

so long
C Y
past a steady keeper’s hand:
a wedding band
and regal sheets
untainted
so

[virgin sheets? are they ever? tabula rasa? or always/already written? is the task to
discover what’s already there or to rewrite the new? do we black out the purity when we
write or do we make a human space in the perfect void?]

long
Y O U N G  C Y

whose balls bounced
through marble halls
danced tumblers
of liquid yellow
suns
a squirt
in discerning eye
cyclopean circles
in jagged staggers
on sober frames
time, Cy
and memory

[but whose? the greeks and romans are names only, scratched in the sand on the edge of
the sea, your paint does not reach them, nor carry me there, it keeps me here in the
everpresent of a child’s scrawl, not even a barbaric yawp but the glee of a kid playing in his
own shit—without the glee—i’m an adult godammit, too big for this chair, can’t find my
locker, books gone 100 times 100 times]

scuffed
in the crust
of profligate paint
neither Dionysus
nor Apollo
but a cerulean flow
past pallid crowds
and yawning guards

D O  N O T  T O U C H

but you married the Baroness
shat cadmium lire notes
no question of mess
taste for waste
but time, Cy
and so memory
long scuffed
the edge of a sneaker
slide
into first
base

 

Contributor’s Notes: Mark Kerstetter steals time away from restoring an old house in Florida to write poems and stories and to make art out of salvaged wood. Please visit him at markkerstetter.com.

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Features

So Long, Cy

by Mark Kerstetter (after Cy Twombly) So long C Y long so sigh in all fours solo slitherer C E R B E R U S  C H A L K B O A R D muddy sneakers polished floor a long slide [home? no, we’re not there, i’m not there, still in school,...

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by Mark Kerstetter I. He was tethered to possibility. But his body, neither spring nor anchor, would not allow him, without letting go, reach the instrument broken at his feet. He held but a fragment, a mere stick. Caught comical, pathetic, useless stick hovering in air, his eyes rolled edge to mirror’s edge, his...

Gretel

by Savannah Thorne   Worn trees moan: Ghost-houses in winter. The woods drink our depths. Old leaves brush like damp Bedding across our faces. Broken paths, broken branches. Crescent sun on mud. We do not know where we Are going. But we dare To hope. Darkness comes in slants. The snag of wooden claws,...

Invitation to the Muse

by Savannah Thorne   Come with me. Through crazed, Embroidered webbing of night, come. Without your aid I am useless. I need To gallop past lips red and hungry, dripping potions. I move in shame and stumbling; Give me your holy dance. Light the flagstones, One by one, flowering in praying light. The night...

The Bus Stop Dreaming

by Anna Eggemeyer A quiet half-moon gives meager light to the coastal city, a place that reclines into the foothills at the base of the greenish-blue water. As the man approaches, she braces herself against a parking meter, shaking so much it vibrates. He stumbles toward her, his workday shirt unbuttoned at the collar...


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