Ceresian
1.
in
this macho culture
the
men can tell what i am
i
know my place
but
within that place
i
try to bear myself with dignity
putala,
putala! some drunk guys yelled at me
from
a motorboat
Venice
2 am
Rio
d S Polo
i
was standing in the lit window
looking
pensive
weak
these
idiots
i’m
at their mercy
yesterday
after
going to the Church of S. Giovanni e Paolo
i
wandered lost in Castello
bouncing
around through the calli
like
a pinball in a pinball machine
walked
into a church with no name
inside
it was bare
the
ravaged floor was time-pocked
a
few worn-away lastre tombali
anonymous
doges and heroes
a
few faded frescoes
there
was a woman
with
dark hair
sitting
at the attendant’s desk
frowning
at me i thought
walked
up to the stripped altar
on
the ceiling above was a painting
the
heavens opened
God’s
light like a sword falling
i
looked back and realized
the
attendant was looking at me amorously
the
old Venetians behind their shutters
in
motley buildings of falling facades
the
battered rusted balconies with dead plants hanging
but
all of it still alive
like
i want to be
here
in this macho culture where i have to be
furtive
as a rat
at
the pizza place as i paid
the
guy talking to me
made
sure i knew my place
lackey
clown
buffoon
i’d
had several Negronis
my
heart was going BEAT BEAT BEAT
not
sure if it should stumble on
2.
shame’s
the devil’s fiery sword
there
are many statues all over Venice
with
eroded noses missing arms missing fingers
dignity
crowned in pigeon shit
putala
i’m
putala
the
two women at the Majer whisper about me
when
i’m standing right there
i
refuse to take the bait
refuse
to blush
shame
is black
among
the planetoids in our solar system
one
is Ceres
it’s
a pink pearl
the
ice unicorns live there
i
dream of Ceres
when
i’m ashamed
somewhere
inside me is a
beautiful
story
Bird
of Silence
I’m
just down from heaven
I’m
one of the broken angels
ducking
low under cracked wooden spars
I’m
the darkling of the sottoporteghi
I
touch dead stone
and
make it quicken
what
I speak and sing, it’s
the
voice of the morning
I
look far away over the rooftops
I
think of something far away
I
sometimes hear a little bird
I’ve
seen it flit
it’s
grayish-blue
its
call is four sharp little pin pricks
four
sharp little silver needles
I
tried my bird app
it
told me
Bird
of Silence
Excerpt
from Ür
There’s
an old boat
in
my mind
so
full of holes
and
the sails all tattered
it’s
exactly the
vessel
I need to
float
down the
waterless
stream
into
the deeps
of
my memory
if
you want to live
you
have to go
underground
now.
The
chipped horses
red,
blue and yellow
the
little nickel-slot
merry-go-round
at
Town and Country Shopping Center
when
did their faces
become
so
agonized,
grimacing
go
round
merry-go-round
seek
impossible
happiness
as
the
dirty
city
rolls
the day
like
a dung beetle its
ball
of dung.
Alex Rainey Ward is a poet and songwriter. He divides his time between Minneapolis and anywhere else. He has poems forthcoming in the Ginosko Literary Journal and Maryland Literary Review.