natatorium by Matt Moseman
Matt Moseman May 24, 2009 at 3:48AM the sun hangs up in the air like an axe
of the bronze age polished with wax
or animal fat and it is lashed to the
trunk of an impossibly straight
up in the air oak.
the luminance of the star slurps
the color brown and the color
green and any reddish undertones
that may have been
out of the branches and the leaves.
purple stains my eyesight
a photonic singularity for many minutes
it feels like I will go blind.
recalling an old memory of a daydream
I lived in once in a shady bottom floor
of the house I am sitting on top of
it was sunny then too and I fled such things.
I imagined an empty natatorium
and the wormy reflections
of the buzzing lights bright like saws
danced all around
a thousand eels anguine mucus
I could imagine on my skin
I stood on the side
of the tile-lined mostly white
blue striped pool.
tethered to those tiled walls
were naked little girls my age
and so they were around six
or seven having no breasts
having no understanding
I could control the water-level
with my mind and I would
raise it over their heads and
then after some time I would
lower it back a little
and they would sputter and beg and I would do it again.
Matt Moseman
the sun hangs up in the air like an axe
of the bronze age polished with wax
or animal fat and it is lashed to the
trunk of an impossibly straight
up in the air oak.
the luminance of the star
the color brown and the color
green and any reddish undertones
that may have been
out of the branches and the leaves.
purple stains my eyesight
a photonic singularity for many minutes
it feels like I will go blind.
recalling an old memory of a daydream
I lived in once in a shady bottom floor
of the house I am sitting on top of
it was sunny then too and I fled such things.
I imagined an empty natatorium
and the wormy reflections
of the buzzing lights bright like saws
danced all around
a thousand eels anguine mucus
I could imagine on my skin
I stood on the side
of the tile-lined mostly white
blue striped pool.
tethered to those tiled walls
were naked little girls my age
and so they were around six
or seven having no breasts
having no understanding
I could control the water-level
with my mind and I would
raise it over their heads and
then after some time I would
lower it back a little
and they would sputter and beg and I would do it again.
Reader Comments (6)
The first S is fabulous, some ideas:
the sun hangs in the air like an axe
aged bronze polished with animal fat
lashed to the trunk of an impossibly straight
up in the air oak.
There are further edits I would make, I think it’s a strong draft, I’ve noticed, that you tend to write like you speak, not that I know what you sound like when you speak, but I can recognize some vocal parts in your poetry. It would be interesting to see you take it up a notch and carve another voice out of your work, cut some articles, some unnecessary added vocal points, paint the words on the page, don’t just tell them. In other words, it would be really nice to see you settle with one poem and really edit the fuck out of it, spread your wings, as some might say.
matt - this is stunning.... a whole world nested in these lines....
i love the richness, the way it moves in and out, almost breathes
stanza 4 feels weak... could be shorter perhaps? final 2 stanzas wonderful!
k
An unmitigated sensual delight. A really extraordinary piece. I have to differ from Erika here- I think her proposed edit would kill the pleasure of your purposefully voluble style.
'purposefully voluble style' is a voluble combination of words which adequately articulates my considered syntax. and it nicely rolls off the tongue.
thank you all for your feedback.
Mmmm like this Matt. even the unexpected Sharon Olds type line breaks seem very apposite.