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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390080" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Real Motorcycle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unspeakable. The word that fills up the<br>poem, that the head<br>tries to excise.<br>At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face<br>on the porch rail in the rain.<br>Heavy rains later, & maybe a thunderstorm.<br>12 or 13 degrees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Inside: an iris, candle, poster of the<br>many-breasted Artemis in a stone hat<br>from Anatolia</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A little pedal steel guitar</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A photograph of her at a table by the sea,<br>her shoulder blocked by the red geranium.<br>The sea tho invisible can be smelled by the casual watcher<br>Incredible salt air<br>in my throat when I see her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Suddenly you discover that you'll spend your entire life<br>in disorder; it's all that you have; you must learn to live<br>with it.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Four tanks, & the human white-shirted body<br>stopped on June 5 in Place Tian an Men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or 'a red pullover K-Way.' There is not much time left<br>to say these things. The urgency of that,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">desire that dogged the body all winter<br>& has scarcely left,<br>now awaits the lilacs, their small white bunches.<br>Gaily.<br>As if their posies will light up<br>the curious old intentional bruise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Adjective, adjective, adjective, noun!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or just, lilac moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What we must, & cannot, excise from the head.<br>Her hand holding, oh, The New Path to the Waterfall?<br>Or the time I walked in too quickly, looked up<br>at her shirtless, grinning.<br>Pulling her down into the front of me, silly!<br>Sitting down sudden to make a lap for her...<br>Kissing the back of her leg.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">4</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Actually the leg kiss was a dream, later enacted<br>we laughed at it,<br>why didn't you do it<br>she said<br>when you thought of it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The excisable thought, later<br>desired or<br>necessary.<br>Or shuddered at, in memory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Later, it is repeated for the cameras<br>with such unease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">& now, stuck in the head.<br>Like running the motorcycle full-tilt into the hay bales.<br>What is the motorcycle doing in the poem</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A. said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's an image, E. said back.<br>It's a crash in the head, she said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's a real motorcycle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Afterthought 1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">0 excise this: her back turned,<br>she concentrates on something<br>in a kitchen sink,<br>& I sit behind her,<br>running my fingers on<br>the table edge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">0 excise this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Afterthought 2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">& after, excise, excise.<br>If the source of the pain could be located<br>using geological survey equipment.<br>Into the sedimentary layers, the slippage,<br>the surge of the igneous intrusion.<br>Or the flat bottom of the former sea<br>I grew up on,<br>Running the motorcycle into the round<br>bay bales.<br>Hay grass poking the skin.<br>The back wet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hey, I shouted,<br>Her back turned to me, its location<br>now visible only in the head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I can't stand it,<br>I invent anything, even memories.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She gets up, hair stuck with hay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I invented this. Yeow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Erin+Mour%C3%A9">Erin Mouré</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=390080" data-title="A Real Motorcycle de Erin Mouré" data-description="Unspeakable. The word that fills up the
poem, that the head
tries to excise.
At 6 a.m., the wet lion. Its sewn plush face
on the porch rail in the rain.
Heavy rains later, & maybe a thunderstorm.
12 or 13 degrees.

Inside: an iris, candle, poster ..."></div>
</div>
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