Let's get them all out in the open

ERECTUS AMERICUS

The genus
Of genius
In all those games
Where the winner
Crowds and crows
Out the loser
In fashionable pity

I wait for the memories
To secede
From the union
Of my mistakes
The short turn-offs
That become overnight stays
That lead to life-long
Inhabitation

In this fairyland
Of open piety.


-jim hill (1-11-09)

ERIC FISCHL PAINTS SUBURBIA

Stumbling from the cab
Wearing backward T-s

She tripped, shamefaced.
We love clambakes
And visiting the Tastee-Freez (sic).

We’re not too proud of our small town;
Rather we like to hide in its
Shameful shadows

Spying
In windows
In widows’ yards
And learning to drive
In video cars

Gobbled up like
Movie scenery
Thrown out to die
in back lot shots

The earnestness
Of primetime slots:
Forbidding
The boy by his mom
To steal a purse or two.


-jim hill (9-24-08 and 1-21-09)

G_D

I have no need to be in wonder
Rather to lie in state
To remain upright
In case you look this way again.

I don’t want to appear
Weak or to remain in
Your past. I want to look strong
And viable. I want to look like I’m an artist
That doesn’t rely on sentiment
Or any old ideals. I want to be so far into
The abstract that my pictures cannot
Be interpreted by anyone who conducts
Himself in concrete terms. My work
Will be applauded on the merits of its disconnection
And discord. I break no bread with those who want
Easy answers. I commune with the unutterable
I live in the shadow of my maker
Who cannot be called by name. in fact you may now refer to me
With apostrophes, ellipses, and hyphens. With no life-lines
Available, I ask only that you use discretion when you
Wish to buy a vowel.

-jim hill (1-20-09)

OLD ENEMY

Praise you for keeping me hidden inside
What could be construed as your memory

With me locked in and protected
I have no need to fear old enemies

I have time to reflect
As I live in the shadows of your past

What happened before is
Not important

Not when the hands have stopped
And I’m determined to continue breathing

In no time at all.


-jim hill (1-20-09)

THE LAST OF MY SUPERSTITIONS

When I ran out of salt
I threw sugar
Over my shoulder

and my luck changed.
All reds became green
Fences were mended
Old friends
Were forgiven
And vice-versa.

One trip
Turned into many
As the horn o’plenty
Never seemed to empty.

Dice were putty
In my hands
And
I could crap no more.

I became – for a time –
Friendly to nature
And even that was lucky –
For her and me.
As the globe started to warm
And the rains began
The seas started to rise
And I could see beyond
What the gift had given
I saw the whole thing start anew
And the smell of a brand new planet
God and I were like this:
Buds to the end.


-jim hill (1-11-09)

THE RAPTURE

i list myself
as a patient man
while describing in great detail
the things that make me anxious.

I anticipate the end for no one
But the end times – if there is in fact something so final and resolute-
Begs me to reconsider
The Rapture.

If we are to be held
Accountable
For the ignorance (not bliss)


-jim hill (1-21-09)

YOU SING

You sing
Like you’ve sung
A song or two
But the notes
That are bent and twisted
By your mouth and tongue
Are an acquired taste
That few would endure
To happen. I say it with all
The love and respect I can
That you torture the song
And carry it to places
That contradict the words
I wouldn’t call it a melody
That you sing
Because it bears no resemblance
To anything uttered by human breath

However,
It could be such an advanced approach
To song and singing
That mortals will never approach
Comprehension/digestion
We must wait for someone to tell us,“this is magnificent,” “spectacular,” etc. I don’t
Worry that I’ll not belong to the special group
Who’ve been blessed with the talent to hear such
Special gifts and talents. I worry though that you may be
Misunderstood to such a degree
That you’ll be murdered
By the low-born son
Of perfect-pitch.


-jim hill (1-21-09)