Chelsea DeRose
negatives from Mms. Nahima's Photography Handbook
(after Kristy Bowen)
aperture: provides controlled light. As travelers,
we tripped upon the broken bicycles of Amsterdam. The
shout of city trams, the sweat of homeless.
exposure: accurate, or essential. As futile
as nightfall (burning-in). Symbolized a need for
large numbered groups and maps in pockets. Her
earrings danced alleys (notes promiscuity) to shift
affairs more precisely. How are we willing to
sit?
film: latent. A pawn in play with relics, oh
it strolls in museums, opened in a novel era.
hyperfocal: depth. as futile as daybreak (reflect).
Maybe concentrated on the distortion. The fisheye.
Her tour’s guide of the countries.
lens: coma. We are foregoing all our own
memory. The bridges snake cobble stones, while
vino cures the mouths of the cafe, the half scones,
the menus filled with tips.
shutter: motion. I’ve been jumping trains again.
Bullets slide along tracks of latitudes, dotted with
docile hostels.
zoom: distance, or simply departure.
dead man's float
seaweeds seem to be in motion again
surrounding hallways filling up on algae
marbles moaning as they roll down backs
of chairs calling out numbers
on chalkboards while sound waves
through eardrums adding cushion for five minute solos
–can you hear them singing?
atop herrings necks stretched across the table
it takes one with a ruler to find its heart
sweaty and blood leaking from gull’s feet
it’s time to rewind it’s time to remind passerby
to leave some for the rest of us it’s time to rest
pull conch shells over my eyelids let cattails
live in my windowsills scratching the broken bell jar
–I don’t want to sit
salt stains the fins in the corners of my mouth
slide the ocean over the moon I soon will be able to fish
count crabs in my stomach as pelicans bellow
–below! below! urchins fill my bed
scratching the wind blown red skin
and suck on the ends of my hair
tendrils of seashells cover the carpet
making it hard to walk on water
build a styrofoam boat to sail
on out of here
–it will not always be this easy
sometimes sand dollars know best
sometimes it’s time to sleep
gamboling alacrity
drip Monet on my collar bone
and splash Renoir on my voice box
let me sing of Denver
through O’Keefe’s reds and skeleton blues
antique rust and Van Gogh
is an orange.
leave coattails of his yellows
and top hats of his greens around my ankles
let me swim
with Herman Melville
among the frigid waters
to lost luggage.
case my two lips with Marlin Brando’s
photograph I want to be infused
in leather
motorcycle mama
part Dalai Lama Tibet is open
for travel open for business.
jet fuel my stockings soaking up
the rainwater Dickens danced alleys
and Dickenson called birds
blue jay cardinal
sparrow flop
on the pavement.
below is just Illinois just how you left
her hover over the Hoover Dam
and jam band
across the Mississippi
but my heart is leaking
and loving Kentucky.
so pour in the medicine
and mix with the mint julep
cup passing
a past time
lost in translation
in missionary position.
dish out water with bath water
don’t loose the baby’s diaper
dangle among the clothespins
and ponder your existence
this is only a paroxysm
this remains nascent.
Idaho Cento
i keep you in a flower vase
a fenced in piece of nothing
in dead parking lots, waiting
for the ashtray to lead me astray.
under florescent lights
in that jonquil dress
all the billboards
are our best friends.
on the shadows of over passing planes
made of hay and cornhusks
the moon is rowing
and the devil is a railroad car.
like a stretch of future graveyards
pin your heartbeat up as i light
a fire underneath myself, the bonnet
wears a wire albatross
singing just a little bit.
lighting up the tilt sign
she is a sparkplug
red bellied and coiled
he is a mechanic
oil infused and callused
syringed and splitbodied brilliant
her ankles bound in feathers
her collarbone bends in filaments
with corsaged hemlines at her fingertips
revolver mouth and peppermint hunger
his motorcycle jacket did the rumba
his shoulder switchbladed in tongues
kerosened party guests eat black mamba
sutured and water bound in silence
their spines stretch over the crowd
their arteries hum hollow from violence
and whalebones point out the holy shroud
--
Chelsea DeRose