Search Moongate About Jodey Bateman Pablo Neruda Translations by Jodey Bateman Contributors Michael Eliseuson Ken Peters Daisy Sidewinder Uncle River Abuela Musica Jalapeno Peppers Children’s Page Finder Submissions

Move’s Mud

Pate for surgeons’ resumes,
my strong physique is born
of geyser sprays of will,
thick collagen for billets
and bullets of insatiable goals.
I walk upon the lip of blood.
Motion’s carrot, brittle bent,
a Cadillac that runs the risk
of getting repossessed so fast,
so suddenly by flipped collapse.

Blisters are a kissing cousin
always on the edge of form.
My territory:  question marks.
I never know where legs will land.
How bad I’ll steep in agony
from scaling simple parking lots.
My life a darker shade of brown
because move’s mud
has ruled so long.

The meat-loaf waltz
and wincing eyes.
I wear them both like
liver rinsed in iodine.
A plastic, tall Napoleon,
my courage hand is slipped
in shirts of mortal
on the edge of lose.
I touch the breast of tragedy.
Discover rubber canonized
by effort’s crucial chemistry--
not the strength and dignity
you’ve stapled to my frame of mind.

 - Janet I. Buck

to Janet    to Moongate