Michael S. Begnal

For Ron Asheton

volume

  volume    volume

 volume

    volume

  the

volume     volume     volume

  volume,

    no way,

chord       chord        chord

  chord

     chord            chord

chord

    chord

       chord

  one two three four,
  thousand—

we mythologize and love our heroes
and propagate their images,
quantum leaps of evolution,
it is nothing else but
and
  and
 and
   and

      and

and the thing
you don’t understand at first
is best

  (like a toupée)

something is a part of someone,
never a dead end,
never hard to understand

a bloody hand

  and
  ____

(volume)

the shifting sands

what are the sensations
in the studio
under pink,
 looking
for a place called Stoogeland?

other times alone
and drinking,
a mind wide enough
as liquid,
 a switch

can’t ask him now
of the sensation,
songs of a single chord,
quite other song,
the true sound of metal guitar strings
struck through loud
amplifiers,

a strange orange wind wails,
a strange orange wind wails,
 now
an orange wind wails,

  wails

    it wails—

    it’s 2009


In the Stadium

the stadium of white stone,
cracked blocks of sun

       faces brown and lined,
the men eating tacos in the stands,
some take pills when no one is looking

hard working in the taxi office 12 hours a day,
it’s hard sitting in these faulty seats of wood
which date to Roman times or before,
and the peanut vendors never come around

   it is that
the colossal stadium
       has gathered the people—

the announcer, drunk, crackles over the loudspeaker,
you peer through an arch on the mezzanine
and view its space/

  the stadium at night,
   floodlights shoot into the black sky,
       cathedral columns spaced in circle
so when you look up, the whole crowd one mass,
   as in its womb,
       enwrapped in its familial warmth,
you see a passage, or a canal,

   you rise through it,

       up,
       up,
       up,

      to birth



Michael S. Begnal has published three collections of poetry: Ancestor Worship (Salmon Poetry, 2007), Mercury, the Dime (Six Gallery Press, 2005), and The Lakes of Coma (Six Gallery Press, 2003).  His poems, essays and reviews have appeared internationally in numerous journals and anthologies, in print and electronically.  His new collection, Future Blues, is forthcoming from Salmon Poetry.  His blog is www.mikebegnal.blogspot.com

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