Re: Moon Studies / a poem by Will Dockery

> Will Dockery wrote:
> Moon Studies
> 
> Toys toys toys,
> among these flowers.
> Little Angel,
> shaven and beautiful,
> falls, smacks her behind on the cement
> a couple of times.
> She's mystical, punk,
> and her magic transforms this street
> to Bourbon Street.
> 
> Three lesbian pirates walk by,
> Spaniard girls,
> far east traders.
> I think of Edith the bag lady,
> she's bored with her bags,
> her bag is to split me open,
> tear me apart with pleasure,
> but I am far far away.
> 
> Three weeks now in a rainbow town,
> living with the Lion and his silver lady.
> There's art,
> Joseph on his bicycle,
> grandpa singing his heart out.
> But my grandpa's in heaven with a ballpeen hammer,
> breaking all the mirrors.
> 
> Skulls, crossbones,
> the Raven does cross stitch.
> Two Flagler blondes pass,
> I look up from my writing just in time.
> I see them looking back smiling,
> my heart skips a beat.
> There is art, the wind is artistic,
> the colors so very perfect.
> Silver moon like no other,
> people shifting and speaking.
> 
> Artist ladies,
> a street that comes inward.
> Cacophony of music, shout, sounds,
> jazz blowing in the wind over my head.
> Fast Chicago blues from the tavern,
> cars and yells and click clack,
> walking sounds and the whir of wind.
> Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
> so I sit.
> 
> Then a car on Hypolita Street
> rushes by with 70's soul blast,
> fast and then it's gone.
> I saw death on Saint George Street,
> in the doorway of the tavern,
> on All Hallows Eve.
> Electric fire blood,
> remembering Megan's crystals,
> spoken of in her poetry.
> 
> Moonchild native of the dream town.
> Going on with a spiral of thought,
> remembering golden Elaine.
> Flash of sparks of memory,
> unfolded to other causes and times.
> 
> Problematic possibilities,
> paranoiac perspective,
> peopled by children in an ancient city.
> She's bored with her bags.
> Her bag is to split me open,
> tear me apart with pleasure,
> but I am far far away.
> 
> -Will Dockery



From 1997, found in the Usenet poetry newsgroup archives, original text restored:

Moon Studies

Toys toys toys,
among these flowers.
Little Angel,
shaven and beautiful,
falls, smacks her behind on the cement
a couple of times.
She's mystical, punk,
and her magic transforms this street
to Bourbon Street.

Three lesbian pirates walk by,
Spaniard girls,
far east traders.
I think of Edith the bag lady,
she's bored with her bags,
her bag is to split me open,
tear me apart with pleasure,
but I am far far away.

Three weeks now in a rainbow town,
living with the Lion and his silver lady.
There's art,
Joseph on his bicycle,
grandpa singing his heart out.
But my grandpa's in heaven with a ballpeen hammer,
breaking all the mirrors.

Skulls, crossbones,
the Raven does cross stitch.
Two Flagler blondes pass,
I look up from my writing just in time.
I see them looking back smiling,
my heart skips a beat.
There is art, the wind is artistic,
the colors so very perfect.
Silver moon like no other,
people shifting and speaking.

Artist ladies,
a street that comes inward.
Cacophony of music, shout, sounds,
jazz blowing in the wind over my head.
Fast Chicago blues from the tavern,
cars and yells and click clack,
walking sounds and the whir of wind.
Jarrod and Dawn have closed the coffee shop,
so I sit.

Then a car on Hypolita Street
rushes by with 70's soul blast,
fast and then it's gone.
I saw death on Saint George Street,
in the doorway of the tavern,
on All Hallows Eve.
Electric fire blood,
remembering Megan's crystals,
spoken of in her poetry.

Moonchild native of the dream town.
Going on with a spiral of thought,
remembering golden Elaine.
Flash of sparks of memory,
unfolded to other causes and times.

Problematic possibilities,
paranoiac perspective,
peopled by children in an ancient city.
She's bored with her bags.
Her bag is to split me open,
tear me apart with pleasure,
but I am far far away.

-Will Dockery

*** 


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