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Here Comes Thelonious, Hook-Beaked and with Hooded Eyes, Popping Rivets, Or Portrait with Shooting Glasses

Here Comes Thelonious, Hook-Beaked and with Hooded Eyes, Popping Rivets, Or Portrait with Shooting Glasses


The two-tone
of one high and one low
pleasing musical notes composed
doorbell chime,
repeatedly rapidly pressed,
passes through this empty yellow amber
curtained living room
packed to bursting with dried and shriveled up lemon sacs
glazed with a nicotine tint,
as barbless prongs of polished gleaming
perfect pitch,
like butcher’s hooks
through the sun-cured fugue state
I’m lost inside,
my employer and neighbor Bernard pressing
the solenoid button
outside
sliding glass patio door
a swatch of curtain peels away from,
scalloped edge of bright
unzipping on the floor and up the wall,
an incisor: red brick,
slender contours of wrought-iron bookcase
laden with paperback novels...
a raptorial beak
renting this polarized veil
of distortion-less sorrow, blue spectrum
light flinging deep shadows.
Written by Mark_Parsons (Mark Parsons)
Published
Author's Note
The poem was originally published in Contemporary Verse 2, vol. 37, no. 4, Spring 2015, p. 33.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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