Article 3

Caleb Puckett

Gallery

body, dissolve 
          in 
body, dissolve 
in body 

the taste
of eyes,
           eyes
           blinking 
such a mysterious 
            smile below

plate of attribution,
arm covers chest,
           the concealed 
treasure

            legs cross,
            uncross,
conjure echoes
on the cold floor

a crime,
           this crying
shame
snaking its path
           home

rogue’s gallery,
          Christie’s catalog,
          sign of four 
          seeming to say

a worn wooden haft,
          prick of blade,
          shape made in
high relief

         art’s
the aftertaste,
memory
         the pedestal

peace a distant
pulse
         under sheets
of whitest cotton

odd, 
        the ongoing admission
of strange company,
        the witness
of metaphysical
conceit



Procession

Generational speech
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  sprung
     in a dim lot

service terms

before the dam 
   broke,
before the bar’s salute

     dinner’s silver nod

snaking mirrors,
   Queening hearts

& those shovels 
          sold by suits 

gilded by rain,
mud-caked
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  birthdays
      bygone
in 8 mm 

birds 
flare 
     in the steps 
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  back

          shadow witnesses,
real
for the insects

bleeding not in silk

but the desert under 
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  heel,
the desert 
hell
  in blue brilliance

remember to recall well
  the features

by February 
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  the issue must slip—

to 
settle the living will
        into 
  a series 
of last regrets

que pasa?
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  quelled

the same sepia tone  
     awarded purple
from the toiling 
custom 

  but somehow
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  free
in the offing of

yet omnivorous intimations
          keep 
   those stones coming 

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  beyond an us

the urgency of finery,
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  metallic finality
   in speech patterns 
beating back from caliche

The busy might curse
&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp  the slow
in passing

& the short of it—
  how many returns
  show
themselves mercies?

Caleb Puckett lives in Kansas. His books include Tales from the Hinterland, Market Street Exit and Fate Lines/ Desire Lines. A recent group of his poems appears in the 20th anniversary issue of mgversion2>datura. Along with writing, Puckett edits the literary journal Futures Trading.
 
 
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