Room

Ben Doller

 

In the beginning was the word | or at least a sound
it takes so long for sounds to turn to words or even
to shouts or shrieks | or it was an explosion | I don’t
know it was this morning | that was a long time ago

in the beginning was the cough | existence organized
around awareness | so it was a room or it was objects
I needed my glasses | the features | shortly I procured
said glasses | applied them to the face | still I did not

account for the objects | settled so long amongst them
so long | no presence in their presence | the “window
blinds” the “alarm clock” I suppose | the gateway drugs
the “cool breath of the body in light rest next to mine”

after the beginning there was the urination | performed
in a standing manner | remarkably practiced | fairly accurate
the thrill of evacuation into standing water | the luxury
of pipes behind drywall | just scrolling through privileges

already the body managing | systems crooning in unison
this is just the beginning | shortly I began to be more
alone | lately sleeping naked to release more venom
afraid it would then leech back into the poison world

if I can be a filter for the future I will be | kidney or lymph
at least a catalytic convertor | make a bad thing a little less
so | still just there in the bad skin & skeleton performing
test site or the handwashing bop | no longer advancing

but advanced | after that it was very quiet | the whoosh
of gore through my tubes | advancing then circling back
war | a similar silence the ecoflush | I should let it mellow
but it is too yellow | supplements that stink & stain stone

somewhere else | next I acknowledged the mirror’s surface
weird so appallingly unoriginal | but that is what I did
I did this I did that | the image was not in the surface but
somewhere behind it | I was in the image but not the image

which included also still the hint of bright wizz | the tank
filling murmur | all night in the mouth & the rest of the room
painted cabinets shielding apothecary | oils | first aid kit
clear blue easy | white walls white smudge white cells

and I | have I become so predictable | quiet catastrophe
generator | rising action | down the hill | character
caricature | no matter but moderator in mirror | so, then,
weather sounds | some sky spit on the sand | fizzles

 
 

Ben Doller’s most recent book of poems is “Fauxhawk” (Wesleyan University Press). Together with the poet Sandra Doller, he wrote the collaborative memoir, “The Yesterday Project” (Sidebrow Books). He is Associate Professor in the Literature Department at UCSD.