Maxwell’s Poetry Corner
by Maxwell Redder
Carbon Vacuums
Diamonds & dead leaves:
carbon vacuums
venatically sucking off
the latter to slowly birth the former.
My fiancée’s finger
is banded: exploding rainbow
rays bounce and zoom
from three carbon births
trapped in gold & loyalty.
The latter Proverbs recommends
wearing like a necklace,
the former is found
in dirt & death:
carbon vacuums
each insisting that the other
is responsible for their existence.
Chimney Flue
A crumbled chimney firmly blocks
the searing winter breeze. A bit of yesterdays
paper flapping between chunks of mortar & brick
waved goodbye. Jumping, a young dove tilted
and timidly caught a gust; the little black girl
with neon beads twisted in her hair watched
from her drafty window and wished
she had that type of freedom. Seeing the paper
stuck, she thought trusting the wind
may not always be best. In the alley below,
A bohemian sonata rang from the throat
of the hopeless street performer whose face
was painted like an egg. A man
in a two day old pinstripe suit threw three quarters into the performer’s wicker basket
walking past on his way to work
where unbeknownst to him his boss just shot
a load of semen into the new secretary;
a young man who freshly graduated university
with a bachelor’s in communications,
uncertain if he liked showing up to work early.
Time will never allow him to be anything
more than a sneeze. He sneezed simultaneously
with the little black girl after blowing off
her mother’s dusty book; that old Camus called
The Stranger. How strange her thoughts,
bouncing around like light through the glass
of her slowly dripping window, would came back
to the chimney, pondering if the air inside
its flue moved as much as the things outside,
or remained still, eavesdropping on the Earth’s
vibrant vibrations. Then, back to bouncing.
Exploded View of My Physical Self
*****
For proper assembly of Maxwell,
carefully follow these instructions:
A. My hair, the graveyard
where dead cells congregate,
is capped with
B. my hat, something grabbed
for needless style and signature
in public. Slathering glue
onto the top portion of
C. my head, a condominium complex
with a bone armature (skull), quickly attach
A+B to the glued section of C.
The skull is owned by an extremely
fragile component named
D. my brain, the battery which runs
my vessel. It is fueled from my heart (see H).
It is eyes. Apply grease often.
Take the unit A-D, and screw into
E. my neck, the gateway
from mouth to asshole,
at the back of my jaw, then plug into
F. my torso: giant armor clasping
around a blood powered engine (heart (see H))
like a scallop shell upon
ocean salt. Torso is Taurus.
Torso is holder of guts, fat and flab.
Torso is protector of
G. my spine: bones with burs gummed
together by fluidic discs.
It is the flagpole hoisting my torso,
exercising the blood engine,
H. my heart. My heart makes me
want to write prose for eternity,
dying fulfilled by describing intricacies
not even science could reveal.
Next plug in
I. my arms, match “R” to the right
and “L” to the left. Jiggle & shake
each arm like the notes of a violin
until loosened at the joints. Stretch
and pop my fingers to activate.
Caution: fingers metaphorically pinch
thought strands from my brain (see D)
before manifesting them into physical creations.
***DO NOT BREAK!*** Snap
J. my pelvis, the core and southern
pivot point, like a tractor to trailer
from the tailbone onto the bottom portion of Torso.
Similar to my arms, you will notice
female slots for the male plugs of
K. my legs, mobile trunks with flat
feet pushing me through space.
Plug legs into pelvis then thoroughly
massage each unit for best efficiency,
loose legs make for better dancing.
Finally, carefully unwrap
L. my penis and tear
along perforated foreskin;
discard. Allow testicles to drop
and sway like a pendulum;
perfect rhythm. Clean often and give
plenty of air. Erect penis
and ejaculate sperm; millions
of missed opportunities.
You have now fully assembled
M. me, Maxwell.
