The Sunday Poem: Wil Gibson... Beautiful Beast

Maine poets Wil Gibson and Beau Williams rolled into town this weekend.  They read last night at One Night Only  which was staged at The Source on Carlisle Blvd in southeast Albuquerque.  Gibson claims Rockford, Illinois as a hometown.  As does another of our favorite poets of The Sunday Poem series, Richard Vargas.  And by the way, Rockford is my hometown as well.  It's a good place to be from.

In case you missed last night's reading, this piece will give you a taste of Gibson's raw and immense talent.


Beautiful Beast
 
she called him a “beautiful beast” and a broken
dinosaur bone fell from the sky.
sometimes signs from god are clear like
lakes and blasphemy.
he poured teleportation nightmares
into slit wrist scars and called it a
found knowledge frankenstein,
or a text message, saying
“thank you” but what it was supposed
to say was “i’ve never felt more old broken or proud”
ink stain daydreams are spent stabbing westward
“there is a person in portland who thinks you’re pretty cool”
in illinois there is the best example of a perfect mother
on the planet. she sleeps alone and genius grows from her
eye sockets and her voice pushes the grading curve on its ass
there is a snapshot of a house with only one room and
fifty people side by side smiling opening eyes wider than
they ever had before and a jolly man shaking hands with all
of them and hugging with his crudely drawn heart
in oklahoma city there is a woman who thinks the
smiley face on the wal-mart sign is an asshole,
he was once.
for a night.
and now the memory lives on
like cockroaches in the apocalypse
this is not a road poem,
it is a love poem, all poems
are love poems.
that means they are clean and unspoiled like an
ignored can of spraypaint at a monument to america
in the desert. the desert is monument to american ignorance.
somewhere right now there is a girl writing a poem
about her grandfather’s hands.
about how the love in them feels
like a steel reserve hangover and the
back side of her father’s hand smells like home.
when i meet her, i will tell her how to hug evil
til it can do nothing but love even if it’s not sure what it is.
there is a woman, almost in new mexico, almost in mexico,
who swears she knows how my ego looks in her
bathroom mirror.  her imagination is greater than all outside.
she got that way because one too many people decided that being a
beautiful beast is something big enough to hate for.
i think it’s a compliment.
even if it’s not, that’s how i’ll take it.
she might hold death like a lover, but i’m willing to bet
she’d fall in love with anyone else as long as they were someone more
there is always someone more. there is someone out there who thinks you
are a bad mother fucker, because you are.
you are a sign from god,
a broken dinosaur bone.
you beautiful beast.




Poetry submissions are welcome.  Email theditchrider@gmail.com.

Views: 146

Comment by Margaret Randall on March 3, 2013 at 8:06am

Powerful images! Guess Rockford must rival Albuquerque in producing its share of good poets.And Albuquerque always puts the welcome mat out for those from elsewhere.

Comment by Izquierdo on March 3, 2013 at 9:58am

Pretty damn good. In fact great. Why don't you hang here in the Land of Enchantment where poems such as this one are most appreciated.

Comment by Dee Cohen on March 3, 2013 at 1:15pm

Nice work. Hope you had a good time in ABQ. Dee

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