Show and Tell: New and Selected Poems
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Show and Tell is a varied, complex collection of poems, serious and wise, wry and often profound. Jim Daniels' work has become both more experimentally dramatic and more poetically sure of itself.
enough to hang him. I look closely for the stigmata on his hands. It is not visible. No halo either. Francisco, Francis, Frank. Is that you? The halo, the sign– because you cannot tell a saint on the street, because you cannot tell a saint in the church, because you cannot tell a saint without a scorecard, because you cannot tell. I would like to touch a halo, the perfect arc, golden. I bet it would warm my cold hands with the solace of its glow. My good friend Frank
cold. Debbie and Linda want to leave early, so we do, without putting up a fight. And it had started out so good, feeling a little like old guys taking our wives to the game. Every time you pitch there’s a certain risk involved. Years later, you look back and can’t figure it out. Like what happened to our friendship. But I’m glad you wrote me after so many years to find we still have much in common, that we both have wives who never liked the Carpenters and can be counted on not to
didn’t look both ways it was displayed on the ribs of a bullfighter and in the open mouths of the stunned crowd it appeared as an oil stain on a gas station calendar obscuring another manufactured holiday the puckered anus of a bored junkie posing in a porn magazine the cancerous lesion on the cheek of a self-portrait the scar of dried snot pulled from the nose of the filthy man with two clean dogs washing himself in the playground fountain it’s not going away
so we may as well plunge our wrists in it we may as well wave to the shadow loitering under the streetlight and call it in. EVOLUTION: TWO FIGURES WITH MONKEY (Two figures with a monkey,1973) Every lightbulb is a hammer pounding in the regret of the smudged chalkboard of last night’s blurry binge that put you here unclothed and stunned like that tired wasp buzzing slow against the window. The water tap seems impossibly far away. Our forced smiles crackle at each
the brick arch of the abandoned house next door, her stage for an audience of stones and weeds. Her voice through glass high and griefless, higher than it might ever go, the sky endless pure blue without credit cards or betrayal. Who can you trust? I’m making a list of things to do—it helps me keep control. I fold up the list and toss it in the trash with a piece of broken glass. When she is tired, my daughter clutches my neck as if it were a rope to save her. The song has more