No one sees the darkest hiss of rain
or the authority of selfish tears
in the rattle of liquid night
like timber packets
Alone hot struggles of kitchen fire
that is her trade
driving her rampart
a woman unconsciously witnessed
with auburn hair low from time's complexion
that nobody watched
The boatman passes like a gust
absently he comes scratching
cursing all the time
always afraid
strolling to him feels like plunging
Mud errands high hair unmoving
flat time downriver from uninterrupted
books I came not to take employment
for the room had not changed
Able herself supported
she walked with undercut pride
or perhaps with something better
Admit the truth
open the window
goodbye to houses and hello to farms
this is the way things are
out in the world
On to Lincoln, Nebraska—
plumb in the middle of The Great Plains.
I wish I were back there again.
Tempests in the dark taunt
our exhibited drunken selves,
placing fallen yellow graves at our feet,
and waves stretching back liberty's possession,
hand-cuffed under female felt and passion,
drift upon island animals and hidden
rebellions emerging.
There are many ways to lie when good
deeds and bad deeds follow you,
and you have everything you wanted.
Will you eventually be with me in that log cabin
in San Juan Valley, Colorado?
I wonder about a good deal in dreams and
dramas, half sick, half wounded, much around the
world, on sea and land, down among the first
arrivals while the worst was yet to come.
Another paradise lost,
but I wouldn't have it any other way.
And I remember my old man, slaving away on
that lemon ranch in California, staring
across prairie land wandering
what the end would be.
Don't worry Rachel,
I won't change Fawngirl for anything.
She did appease my oblivion
and anxious hose,
flailing with
tongue seductions
in the wreck of time.
Discarding chronicles
like sail foam,
data jobs,
or managerial endings,
she was a true love of mine.
But now it's come to sunshine
regimens, profile
clouds, orphan windows and
nihilistic soundtracks.
All like mighty
wandering shadows,
unexpectedly impaired,
somewhere in the night.
I still got a thing about you.
Jeffrey Side has had poetry published in Poetry Salzburg Review, Underground Window, A Little Poetry, Poethia, Nthposition, Mad Hatters' Review, Eratio, Pirene's Fountain, Fieralingue, Moria, Ancient Heart, Blazevox, Lily, Big Bridge, Jacket, Textimagepoem, Apochryphaltext, 9th St. Laboratories, P. F. S. Post, Great Works, Hutt, The Dande Review, Poetry Bay, The White Rose and Dusie. He has reviewed poetry for Jacket, Eyewear, The Colorado Review, New Hope International, Stride, Acumen and Shearsman. From 1996 to 2000 he was the deputy editor of The Argotist magazine, and is currently the editor of the online successor to this, The Argotist Online, which has an ebook publishing arm called Argotist Ebooks. His publications include, Carrier of the Seed, Slimvol, Distorted Reflections, Cyclones in High Northern Latitudes (with Jake Berry) and Outside Voices: An Email Correspondence (with Jake Berry).