Tyler Gobble

Sung Together Song

if cuddling is a human
being call it Ms. Maggie
inkblot it’s me curled up
you be the big spoon
in this pink room
I be the lead soprano
in a choir croon
songs of sensation
jangled vibration
it is good I promise
baby I wail baby
my robe is gold
with stripes of gold
but the inside like
good things pink
glory be to that
and you this smidge
we sing together
utensils dropped
the floor swept up
by a blind maid
tidying the church
spick&span the house
of the falsetto Lord
I’m the shepherd
too a piece of the flock
tromping the stairs
and out into the sunshine
where I want to sing
more into the sunshine

*
magic meeting you
hey handsome quit
worrying I won’t push
you in front of the train
if you don’t wallop me
nose against the map
blue yellow red green
lines plaqued it is what
you can guess to exit
I can’t find any exits
gone unhighlighted
ungraffitied or total
smudged the gunk we
carry is immense
is everlasting is what
Jesus forgot to take
with him he died for
you to sit here with that
hand in the hole
in my jeans just above
the knees they came
that way the jeans not
my knees you won’t find
any maps on my body
I know songs rest here
the orange cracked
seat loose on its nuts
it wiggles or vibrates
what is the best word
is a mystery a train
won’t solve I stood up
to exit to the right
a man hollered SIT
so I did and said
hey handsome

*

kill me into a better lady
a body of singers is called
a chorus my body singing
is called a lightbulb
burning out too soon flash
flash boom ahhh-ohhh
see how high a note
a note can get screwed
into a ceiling fan
the switch flipped the choir
has arrived too dark
they say in here they want
the light they want no more
hunger I’m stretched across
the table but they know
it is me it is not a bowl
of salad not roasted red
meat not even lemon
on the edge of a water glass
definitely not cheesecake
swirls galore the prayer
six minutes eighteen voices
chanting to gods
this meal took of me
inkblot two loving
parents dead deceased
way back home from
the morgue to identify
another body in the long
list of bodies on the dotted
line of eating and singing
and dying hallelujah

*

why fucking why
do you hear it the drum
roll towards my seal
of approval for your hats
and hair line and silly
laugh like a saw cutting
another saw in half or
trying trying mighty hard
but failing because saws
don’t exist in our world
anymore than I exist inside
the trunk of your car maybe
on the weekends
my knuckles wrapped around
drumsticks what am I
beating today wait
til the end of the pounding
and see I think you’ll like it
you’ll like it how it feels
your ears so warm
your head properly upright
in the official way
my momma would’ve
loved if she’d ever got
a rolling much further
past my escape placenta
have you seen one
also the glowing maybe 
what is warmth
but a part of birth
everyone throws out

*

America in bed
like this no American
dreamy soaring eagle
eyes star spangled thighs
yup red white and blue balls
the president said I was
worth the wait or the weight
or the wade into a deep river
a marching band can’t
figure out how to cross
they keep playing their same
sad song about victory
on the right side bank
even when you know they lose

*

and lose also I can’t take
care of my own parts
my vagina like a bass stuck
under a rock but a hawk
can save even me yes he can
yes he down here down
here help I’ve lost all
control of my gills
he says baby baby
he says be mine yum
he says vote for me
for the strongest soar
across the seven skies

*

so far too much kazoo
I can’t understand
you with the kazoo
in your mouth your moans
and pitchy groans
terrible in the ditch
where I left a suitcase
but not you squeezed
in the backseat with my two
babies back there
a gable in pieces up
front seat slid back
you saying comfortable
yes most certainly
knees to your chin
and even then the blow
from the kazoo you
and that racket
no wedding to witness
though my ladies love
to touch our faces
with rice hands blow
bubbles when we exit
celebration of the strange
love we found in tall grass
by highway 13 leading
into the only town called Apathy
in the whole wide world

*

not the only ballooning
I’m back in the streets
and how idiotic
they’re acting these city
folks kicking people
on buses mocking blush-
faced fellas til they shoot
back in the crisp face
the prime offenders
of suckyness wrapped in flesh
their own flesh and say
LOOK as if that is enough
to singe our parts
tattooed with the word
empathy so every car wreck
comes with an apology
our middle feelers our penchant
for birds a-crashing against
our windshields the broken-up
folks licking the gutters
searching for dimes etc etc

*

pow-pow is this thing on
I need no microphone
fuzz amplifier dumb lighter
firing up a cigarette
do you know what
that’s doing to your hum
fucks it totally absolutely
dumb move there handsome
such an idiot in a tank top
your ashes in the carpet
gun grease under the nails
you can get close to me
but first uncock that thing

*

solo death
you wanna sing
this one without me
yeah right go ahead
see where that gets
you inside an empty
dumptruck beating
its bottom against
the hilly streets
we got around here
pretending its music
and someone is probably
saying it is so
so you believe it
sing it without me
sing it with your dick
out in your hand maybe
slapped atop a tire
maybe and boy you
sure are a-belting it
but don’t come
wallowing back here
no no not one wallow
on my stoop bout
your silly blue balls
your silly dick shadow
yourr silly throat shredded
from carrying all
the notes keeping
the meter paid
your gramma happy
at holiday times
oh sing sonny boy
the one about the Lord
and you do and you die
your death groans in
falsetto your lonely
dick like a question
mark at the end
of the look
your gramma
gives you when
you croak on her stoop

*

gargle this bet
a wager saves
breath hissy fits
and greedy kids
if I die you die
if I don’t die you
chase snakes in
the morning eat
skin in the eve
sleep tight honey
this knowledge
the holes in our
practice room
are snake-sized
but also you-sized
a door it’s called
follow my voices
quivering no baritone
baby angelic slithers
on the treetops
outside the window
another wager
if you jump
I jump but
only one of us
lands on the earth

*

whisper what
I’m saying back
to me high class
engagement here
we are screeching
tone it down a bit
okay okay I guess
my makeup running
for the hills out-
side the city taxis
squawking to take
me home they know
I’m a tipper they
see my purse
against my booty
bouncing so I
gotta check myself
be sure the syllables
slipping out my mouth
speak of the right
percentages and values
perceptions and songs
let me sing these
final two sips okay okay
let me hit the biker
square in his leather
jacket okay okay
let me two-step
into the alleyway
with you okay okay
counting every step
counting on you baby
to count me to sleep
cab is mine to cover
I’m yours to cover
good job with my song
what I wanna say—
whiskey what
I’m saying back
to me baby

*

hello, uh...
what's your name again
enough right now
to tell you baby
I am not a lawyer
but I do love me some
big hats made of fruit
the chance to dance
on a dime your dime
buoyancy and elasticity
in the yap yap yapping
from commemorating
my cat to warding off
aliens with tinfoil panties
just listen to that
jingle your patience
better not be broken
on what do you call
them inkblot tests
yes inkblot tests
not to administer
but you create
do not hesitate to craft
a good spotted man
in a sombrero singing
"The Star-Spangled Banner"
or a Mr. Potato telling
the stories behind his tats
I might have lost at the bingo
of love yet again but at least
I got a good keepsake
is my feeling sure sure
I will take no for an answer
but no no no don’t be another
sicko trying to convince me
downloading pornographic
images of children is okay
and no no no the pure delight
of being treated so wildly
my panties floored
by your inkblot prowess
does nothing to the fact
you’re a creep in a wig
you’re as deep as a pig

*

somewhere everywhere
forget frosted
diamonds keep them
down with those
damn ostrich-skin
millionaires at the love
nest tangled in
the thong of some
bird with baby blue
feathers a pigeon in
peacock get-up
my home unprotected
my heavens my heart
no do not go there vicious
or vivacious I handle
little well the charming
or the handsome or the nice
or the tacky the pull
to the floor to dance
not in my home any
longer the pay in abstract
the jams jingle so low
the wheeze on the bed
what I breed because
I have no entourage
of tomorrow to suck
me out of this cultural
vacuum to keep me atop
the balance beam to cry
that low wail to say oh

*

whatever happened
you know this
don’t you declare
slapping chests
is how the savage
and the silly sing
demonstrate among
themselves folks
with knees with that
leapt off  the train feeling
the creaks like a poor
saxophone no time
no eyeballs to sit
staring at a white wall
enjoying its joyous
chorus you know this
don’t you slow the stride
nowadays of every man
yesterday one smiled
and said cheese I said
he should find a better
diet he said the toothpaste
of the world ran out last
november or something
and what are you gonna do
about that I said sing you
a song about the earth rising
so from where you’re sitting
on the other side of this poem
I’m sure you can tell that
sound you’re humming with
is this island only turning
over never turning down

*

beware this examples
the reciprocity instance
marked by all
the lining up
at the door
adorable men
in a variety of hats
women in haircuts
with guts in
the basement
sleeping down there
like the hope I can
muster out of my silly
bones smooching the silly
out of the bones
of the hope upstairs

*

the honey retirement
fires up the fam
the throat box of gramma
her weeping her hollering
smashed the strand
of sound soothing
kinda cooing her free
reign on difficult
portrait painting
my regress oscillating
deeply somewhere
deep a concept baffling
and my ego hanging

*

wallpapering for no
good reason is a sign
of the wrong people
over too often clanking
dangerous the effects
of country white
of go all out!
of the locks undone
of the outfits leaky
of inkblot and messages
of forever of forever
and ever of sensibility
it gone of come on in!
these folks and hot air
their dips in the basement

their footsteps up the stairs

 

Poem by Tyler Gobble