#rex wilder

[antiochreview]

POEM WEDNESDAY - from Boomerangs in the Living Room by Rex Wilder

POEM WEDNESDAY – from Boomerangs in the Living Room by Rex Wilder

From the Fall, 2013 issue of The Antioch Review

from Boomerangs in the Living Room

  PIGEON)

Pigeon, poor pigeon, trying to kill himself by jumping off the bridge.

  FORCED)

Forced on her like a pickle by Sandwich Sam (not his name): leaky promises. Divorced.

  WILDER)

Wilder, Rex. Mature poet (tweak of nature). Man- child

  WERE)

Were you mine? Faded birds in the bindweed stir.

  ****

  Rex Wilder

View On WordPress

[crushedfingers]

Séverine in Summer School - Rex Wilder

Naked for twenty-four of our last thirty-six   

Hours together, and I mean museum-quality, sex-   

Shop, God-riddling naked, sapping gold   

Light from the windows of her hundred-year-old   

Baltimore dorm, we were hungry for selling   

Points, like a couple in a showroom. Compelling   

Arguments were made to close the deal   

And children were discussed. I kissed her from heel   

To head in a shower without water;   

Then with. Nude, she read me a letter as a waiter   

Would his specials, and I couldn't keep   

My eyes off: smooth shoulders, belly, pelvis,   

Deep olive skin all a balm against sleep.   

It was from her sexy grandmother in Dieppe   

And Séverine translated, both of us   

Somehow drawn to this third party in a tidal   

Sort of way, her lunar candor, her antipodal   

Ease with words and the world. We were difficult,   

Séverine and I, a beautiful strain, a cult   

Of two. Even eating, we made lots of noise.   

Even resting in bed, watching the trees,   

Our lighter breathing, our limb-shifting, sheet-   

Rustling, even our dreaming had fight.   

Her heart was exceptionally loud—not with love,   

But with knowing. Knowing what to be afraid of.

[motherground]

Séverine in Summer School

Naked for twenty-four of our last thirty-six    Hours together, and I mean museum-quality, sex-    Shop, God-riddling naked, sapping gold    Light from the windows of her hundred-year-old    Baltimore dorm, we were hungry for selling    Points, like a couple in a showroom. Compelling    Arguments were made to close the deal    And children were discussed. I kissed her from heel    To head in a shower without water;    Then with. Nude, she read me a letter as a waiter    Would his specials, and I couldn't keep    My eyes off: smooth shoulders, belly, pelvis,    Deep olive skin all a balm against sleep.    It was from her sexy grandmother in Dieppe    And Séverine translated, both of us    Somehow drawn to this third party in a tidal    Sort of way, her lunar candor, her antipodal    Ease with words and the world. We were difficult,    Séverine and I, a beautiful strain, a cult    Of two. Even eating, we made lots of noise.    Even resting in bed, watching the trees,    Our lighter breathing, our limb-shifting, sheet-    Rustling, even our dreaming had fight.    Her heart was exceptionally loud—not with love,    But with knowing. Knowing what to be afraid of.

-- rex wilder

[rabbit-light]

Séverine in Summer School

Naked for twenty-four of our last thirty-six   Hours together, and I mean museum-quality, sex-   Shop, God-riddling naked, sapping gold   Light from the windows of her hundred-year-old   Baltimore dorm, we were hungry for selling   Points, like a couple in a showroom. Compelling   Arguments were made to close the deal   And children were discussed. I kissed her from heel   To head in a shower without water;   Then with. Nude, she read me a letter as a waiter   Would his specials, and I couldn't keep   My eyes off: smooth shoulders, belly, pelvis,   Deep olive skin all a balm against sleep.   It was from her sexy grandmother in Dieppe   And Séverine translated, both of us   Somehow drawn to this third party in a tidal   Sort of way, her lunar candor, her antipodal   Ease with words and the world. We were difficult,   Séverine and I, a beautiful strain, a cult   Of two. Even eating, we made lots of noise.   Even resting in bed, watching the trees,   Our lighter breathing, our limb-shifting, sheet-   Rustling, even our dreaming had fight.   Her heart was exceptionally loud—not with love,   But with knowing. Knowing what to be afraid of.

Rex Wilder