Michael Berton
Exhaustion & Hyperbole on The Ruta Maya
Statue with a Missing Penis
               (no penises were mutilated, mishandled, or over-stimulated during the writing of this poem)
Early harvest musing
                              on erotic hands spell
                                                            virile lustful satire
Dionysus cradles a wine jug
                              emptied in poetic reverie
                                                            satiated on the crushed grape.
Satyr holds up Dionysus
                              by his thick-veined penis
                                                            sculpted by the sweat of wine.
The body of Dionysus
                              swirls in a drunken bravado
                                                            gesturing a gruesome act.
Divine the hard flesh
                              caress scrapes a cut
                                                            blood drips from the vine.
Smeared crimson runs down
                              thighs of a castrated statue
                                                            solely gazing upon solitude.
Satyr admiringly lifts
                              Dionysus’ severed penis
                                                            from his wine soaked torso.
A hand molded virility
                              reconstructing the grape
                                                            vine for a new penis.
Vitality in torso of marble
                              crimson from the lips to the groin
                                                            lubricated by the sculptor.
Grapes before wine
                              hands gaze over buttocks
                                                            the tongue surveys rotundity.
Flash Fingers
     For Cecil Taylor
New York City
rumbling
everytime you play
in the Village
Five Spot
Fat Tuesdays
Sweet Basil
Knitting Factory
               The Irridium
with ninety minute sets
you horrified club owners
squares of white capital
requiring liquor breaks
for the hipster audience
you
so out there
out improvised
all those bebop
and hard bop
innovators who practiced
their lives on heroin
some
lost momentum
after a few vinyl gems
and touring with sub par
instruments and agents
you knew curiosity
took a lot of learning
gave the intellect
a chance to dance
as did cutting
contests in speakeasys
or an Ellington orchestra
shagging ballrooms
you dug the dexterity
prepping
for performative piano
strings stretched
percussive taut
your compositions
in the bustle
of drum snares
auras you spun
faster than winks
from Art Tatum
or Thelonious spinning
a trance
you listened
as to rupture
break
signify
and boast
all in one swoop
you alone
     and with Buell Neidlinger and Denis Charles
you alone
     and with Sonny Murray and Jimmy Lyons
you alone
     and with Andrew Cyrille and Alan Silva
you alone
     and you juju incantation
     digging the re-cognition
taking Europe
on a total music
bacchanalia
you were able to
regurgitate the rehearsal
posture the conservatory
on its alumni head
your youthful stamina
bent into grace
as an elder
gave you flash
in the fingers
cleansing preconceived notes
and perusing
the universal sound
The Riddle
why there’s Ornette
doing his habit
bad self
blowing
in concentric
chaos
as satori
cracks
quantum throw down
coiling heroic
angling alto ornate
Michael Berton is the author of Man! You Script the Mic. and No Shade in Aztlan. He lives in Portland, OR
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Exhaustion & Hyperbole on The Ruta Maya
reciprocity ends at the c u r v e of thought or item becoming complacent setting on a point begin turnabout e y o n d stimulus origen put back anew a nothing place anonymous space t r a n s i t o r y dialogues as glances never repeated identity passing out s i d e sharing p a r a l l e l i n f i n i t y
Statue with a Missing Penis
               (no penises were mutilated, mishandled, or over-stimulated during the writing of this poem)
Early harvest musing
                              on erotic hands spell
                                                            virile lustful satire
Dionysus cradles a wine jug
                              emptied in poetic reverie
                                                            satiated on the crushed grape.
Satyr holds up Dionysus
                              by his thick-veined penis
                                                            sculpted by the sweat of wine.
The body of Dionysus
                              swirls in a drunken bravado
                                                            gesturing a gruesome act.
Divine the hard flesh
                              caress scrapes a cut
                                                            blood drips from the vine.
Smeared crimson runs down
                              thighs of a castrated statue
                                                            solely gazing upon solitude.
Satyr admiringly lifts
                              Dionysus’ severed penis
                                                            from his wine soaked torso.
A hand molded virility
                              reconstructing the grape
                                                            vine for a new penis.
Vitality in torso of marble
                              crimson from the lips to the groin
                                                            lubricated by the sculptor.
Grapes before wine
                              hands gaze over buttocks
                                                            the tongue surveys rotundity.
Flash Fingers
     For Cecil Taylor
New York City
rumbling
everytime you play
in the Village
Five Spot
Fat Tuesdays
Sweet Basil
Knitting Factory
               The Irridium
with ninety minute sets
you horrified club owners
squares of white capital
requiring liquor breaks
for the hipster audience
you
so out there
out improvised
all those bebop
and hard bop
innovators who practiced
their lives on heroin
some
lost momentum
after a few vinyl gems
and touring with sub par
instruments and agents
you knew curiosity
took a lot of learning
gave the intellect
a chance to dance
as did cutting
contests in speakeasys
or an Ellington orchestra
shagging ballrooms
you dug the dexterity
prepping
for performative piano
strings stretched
percussive taut
your compositions
in the bustle
of drum snares
auras you spun
faster than winks
from Art Tatum
or Thelonious spinning
a trance
you listened
as to rupture
break
signify
and boast
all in one swoop
you alone
     and with Buell Neidlinger and Denis Charles
you alone
     and with Sonny Murray and Jimmy Lyons
you alone
     and with Andrew Cyrille and Alan Silva
you alone
     and you juju incantation
     digging the re-cognition
taking Europe
on a total music
bacchanalia
you were able to
regurgitate the rehearsal
posture the conservatory
on its alumni head
your youthful stamina
bent into grace
as an elder
gave you flash
in the fingers
cleansing preconceived notes
and perusing
the universal sound
The Riddle
why there’s Ornette
doing his habit
bad self
blowing
in concentric
chaos
as satori
cracks
quantum throw down
coiling heroic
angling alto ornate
Michael Berton is the author of Man! You Script the Mic. and No Shade in Aztlan. He lives in Portland, OR
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