Lilo at the Museum Watching The Fence Thief by Adam Frelin, 2007
Let’s watch again. The man steals
a fence, drives fence to forest,
saws the fence to pieces,
hammers them to the tree, climbs up.
Do you think we can transcend
what we are born into being?
Fence to ladder, tree to tree.
Once I tried to, with a man,
behind a fence, beside a forest,
strip him to pieces and outdo him
in a shower with vinyl curtain.
He was in the shower, you see,
and I was not. I was beside himself.
Watching, whim and evolutionary
instinct, such that his being, who he
imagined himself to bevictor, big easy
disintegrated. What am I getting at?
I sucked him through the curtain.
He made a sound like a hiccup
or agreeing with directions, right
right on. He had the hierarchy.
There is a hierarchy. And he had it.
Except. I did wear the crown a night.
I did to until he was done to.
Forgive me. He could not speak.
Some thievery. I drove him
into the ground. A great distance.
(Poem correlates to http://www.adamfrelin.com/images/videos/The_Fence_Thief-web.mov)
Lilo Asks for Directions in Walmart
My heart started before yours did
and I've been down more red carpets.
You've seen my sprained wrist
in bandage held to my left nip
on the cover of Maxim. I put hot
in the hospital. Why am I not surprised
that you are a regional dojo master and
intend to get your Associates and
are uncertain if people ever change and
worry that you're one of the ones
who doesn't. Stop telling me things
otherwise you're going to miss me.
Now take me to the fish, please.
Moments Later, Aquarium Aisle
I am looking for a blue-capped
oranda and a calico fantail.
What is this carnage?
How would you like to swim
among your dead?
I'm starting to think you don't care,
you're just here for the whip-its
and Carla, in Health & Beauty.
I'll take that fantail, and O god
what have you done? Putting guppies
in separate tanks, side-by-side,
so they swim-swam all night
their itty fish heads wagging
can't do can't do can't do
their bitty fish tails but i love you
but i love you.
Lilo in Rehab
Charlie sometimes I have to ask myself
What are we doing in the world?
And though this usually occurs to me
while I am high on oxy, crank, x
or phetamines, and though I realize
my dirty work does not equate with
the maids of America, I think it's a valid
question, crossing all occupations,
hallucinations and humanities.
What, Charlie, are we doing here?
I for one am not interested in John Donne.
You read to me and you read to me.
I for one would rather get my flea on
with Samson and you didn't see him
reading verse by the viaduct of Sorek.
You saw him bound, gagged,
webbed and whipped. Then
his soul was vexed to death.
My soul is being vexed to death,
and the only thing stopping it is
will you please put your hand
on my soul? My soul is
a little lower down.