Brian Laidlaw Poems

 

 

 

Callbox Hotline

 

 

even if you could drive by braille i could

not have done it in here the firs

 

wax in a whitehot hold

pain in them i know

 

i am obviously wearing your clothes

got a midriff similar

 

to the rent spinout

sick obviously

 

with a pat flatness

its reductive to claim an argument

 

is reductive

pat to flatten the centerfold you always

 

show up in. the pullover hoods

downy the moons obscene

 

below us is a dime you cant tell

whether its worth

 

picking up. nobody

signed my cast because

 

i never broke a bone or wrote get better

soon i tell myself

 

pound out & round that four

ventricled snowcone

 

your so hearty with. nobody

likes to miss a party

 

but then one day you do; the thumbnails

blacken on the tackboard i am

 

growing up upright arent i

i want to want to blackout but i whiteout

 

how the good lake froze how the slakes

inauspicious, i just wanted

 

a warm reception just

wanted to be wireless wanted

 

to graduate from marionette

unto mannequin & mannequin unto man.

 

 

*

 

Wherewithal/The Verb to Script

 

 

i

dont let yourself self doubt that you're handy

     building projectors

reveilles never in vain

like a sock puppet a god mans

struts upto hell in a raw place

got in there & cut a rug with bonnie

bonnie unperturbed i fly & am fly

forefinger & ringfinger render in spacetime

a hammock of where stymie

     touches timely

everyone overworks the closure shifts

the shafts foreclose fore sundown meanwhile

a journeymans playing juliet handily

suffering posterity troubles

the backdrops painted rain

     in acrylics

stem a reminiscence of hogs & hags

come for a matinee

bulletins on hiatus were posted

a roustabout shout in its stead o happy

dagger & o how the spiders in the drains pout


ii


by the roadside there is a grown wallflower

     known as your willpower

it mustnt power off altogether

     dont let yourself wolf

breads or meds unsightly

honey we were not born with this mind or

     with this in mind

we cant let the negative space

of the self self actualize there wont

     be nothing left

     but a patch of

willow crush & a set dresser dressing down

 

 

**

 

Brian Laidlaw is a poet and songwriter from San Francisco, currently finishing an M.F.A. in Poetry at the University of Minnesota.  His work has appeared in American Songwriter Magazine and is forthcoming in FIELD, VOLT, Aufgabe, and Quarter After Eight.  News, tour, and contact information are available at http://www.brianlaidlaw.com/.

 

 

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