{"id":767,"date":"2010-04-12T19:00:39","date_gmt":"2010-04-13T00:00:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=767"},"modified":"2010-04-12T19:00:39","modified_gmt":"2010-04-13T00:00:39","slug":"adam-henry-carriere","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/04\/adam-henry-carriere\/","title":{"rendered":"Adam Henry Carriere"},"content":{"rendered":"

Weather<\/strong><\/p>\n

Here, have a tie-dye<\/p>\n

on those stripes,<\/p>\n

just a touch of white<\/p>\n

trash black on those<\/p>\n

flaming Hawaiian flowers;<\/p>\n

It\u2019s suffering succotash,<\/p>\n

dear, a hard-won head<\/p>\n

ache <\/em><\/p>\n

a purple-headed heart<\/p>\n

ache <\/em><\/p>\n

every blasted throb<\/p>\n

a 9-to-5 retail job.<\/p>\n

There is scientific interest <\/em><\/p>\n

in your own destabilization, <\/em><\/p>\n

clothed to the point of suffocation;<\/em><\/p>\n

major dope addiction<\/p>\n

dulling a literary dullard\u2019s<\/p>\n

pain<\/p>\n

with stutters of sodomophobic<\/p>\n

relief.<\/p>\n

Trading Cards<\/strong><\/p>\n

shy boy over there in the dark closet corner<\/p>\n

rum and coke bought with four appropriate queens<\/p>\n

leave the disorder and win two thousand Sahara dollars<\/p>\n

little big smoker’s breath blond<\/p>\n

awesome dick duel sound effects<\/p>\n

great Vegas comp room invest\u00adment<\/p>\n

baby gay behind the magazines<\/p>\n

longing looks of solitary prom night lust<\/p>\n

three hour naked Italian opera hug<\/p>\n

shower and stay alone<\/p>\n

parking lot stairway erection final act<\/p>\n

don’t remember the buffed bald\u00ading name queen<\/p>\n

cheesy client confusion luxury room moves<\/p>\n

unrewarded fake date cab fare efforts<\/p>\n

cheap little man boy Charlie Brown look-a-like<\/p>\n

back of the bookstore mouth seduction<\/p>\n

midnight friends versus reality divorce<\/p>\n

PWA dinner fee rent-a-car scene<\/p>\n

no drug money hostile Key trash bitch<\/p>\n

babble drugs leftover bourbon holding on<\/p>\n

long haired jail bait jail bird<\/p>\n

garage hugging cracker drawl and all<\/p>\n

bed laying stoner waiting to get laid<\/p>\n

Alabama butt boy booze hound blow job buddy<\/p>\n

no name Fremont welcome wagon rental<\/p>\n

cheap train station trade<\/p>\n

summer too hot for homos in heat<\/p>\n

hand painted olive oil body<\/p>\n

one sided juice without phone numbers<\/p>\n

dirty politeness look all round later<\/p>\n

drop dead little dumb homeless boy<\/p>\n

overpaid with beer and a silk tie<\/p>\n

inscrutable nip bar bitch<\/p>\n

package showing oh so sorry<\/p>\n

oh sexy man oh let me touch no kiss oh sexy man<\/p>\n

smart and shrewd German rail slut<\/p>\n

leggy long hair sweet foreskin cowboy<\/p>\n

video booth immoderation and sophisticated conversation<\/p>\n

named after a poet street ad\u00address for special friends<\/p>\n

let’s make a thank you for the cocktail deal<\/p>\n

Hawaii orphan business talk<\/p>\n

pseudo bonding psycho Tuesday boyfriend<\/p>\n

hidden gentlemen’s shirt lure hard-on<\/p>\n

fag friendship freak out flee\u00ading<\/p>\n

ass aperitif room service<\/p>\n

hell of an old lechered student doppelganger turn on<\/p>\n

wee wee hour stereo enjoyment<\/p>\n

big time new car and new house pro<\/p>\n

eminent ad postcard and word of dick breath mouth<\/p>\n

a Coronado beach boy to remem\u00adber<\/p>\n

so desperate duckling street trade<\/p>\n

nothing but boy trouble beer bust<\/p>\n

same sorry faces looking for Mr. Goodbarfag<\/p>\n

horny smoky drunk and still choosy<\/p>\n

wound too tight how ya doin<\/p>\n

not much pride in this kind of flex<\/p>\n

date dick or daily darling<\/p>\n

the dancing gypsies take the wrong angles<\/p>\n

come to chat, leave depressed<\/p>\n

the gulag is getting to me<\/p>\n

Seventy Octobers<\/strong><\/p>\n

to DSCH…<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

I – Lament for a dead infant<\/em><\/p>\n

In the sepia glow of hope,<\/p>\n

we try to forgive the newborn<\/p>\n

for one day knowing they will expire,<\/p>\n

reminding us how fertile the dust is<\/p>\n

that runs like cycles of the moon<\/p>\n

beneath our quivering skin,<\/p>\n

a malformed secret we keep from babies<\/p>\n

lest they choose to disappear before they wake.<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

II – Fussy Mummy & Auntie<\/em><\/p>\n

Fuss and fiddle, this cow licked, unparted hair,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s pictures today, everyone will make fun;<\/p>\n

tuss and tangle, your freshly rumpled suit,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s church tomorrow, God will know you\u2019re not freshly pressed;<\/p>\n

bubble and squeak, the pepper in such mean boyishness,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s girls who cry in the playground, shameful dancing like that;<\/p>\n

roil and rubble, our good names ruined,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s all those damned books, cleaving a river between us.<\/p>\n

III<\/em> – Lullaby<\/em><\/p>\n

We tell ourselves, sing babies to sleep, caress them.<\/p>\n

Buy flowers, say we love someone, or candy<\/p>\n

to sweeten the pebbles rolling up the path.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s all indignity to want the candy store<\/p>\n

or the garden or the bakery or the toy shop<\/p>\n

just to smell like we\u2019re still breathing.<\/p>\n

We make a hobby out of sketching lieder<\/em>,<\/p>\n

to make believe our psyche won\u2019t feel autumn,<\/p>\n

to ignore the winter scribbled in our margins.<\/p>\n

IV – Before a Long Separation<\/em><\/p>\n

This lifetime of wander, thinking,<\/p>\n

in some queer moment,<\/p>\n

an embarrassing sleep will emerge.<\/p>\n

No plant or animal or fish knows such,<\/p>\n

whether they profit, unclear.<\/p>\n

Dressing for work appears<\/p>\n

existentially redundant, eating, sex<\/p>\n

other than liking the taste of it,<\/p>\n

trying to answer questions tired<\/p>\n

wonder gets that no one asked.<\/p>\n

All the world, crowded, badly ventilated<\/p>\n

and we\u2019re already bound, not speaking<\/p>\n

from matrices of doubt<\/p>\n

all nature has forgotten doesn\u2019t exist.<\/p>\n

V – A Warning<\/em><\/p>\n

If ever an augury had graced the sky, it was some time ago.<\/p>\n

The rest is just good manners, as the clock finds midnight<\/p>\n

and we realize whole atlases had been inside our eyes<\/p>\n

as we travel by now through ourselves, on the way<\/p>\n

to a terminus we never really left in the first place.<\/p>\n

Mothers, they knew this chime all along.<\/p>\n

VI – The Deserted Father<\/em><\/p>\n

The warm hand that squeezes a boy\u2019s<\/p>\n

shoulder never landed, the idea of it<\/p>\n

a pilgrimage whose stomach growls.<\/p>\n

Too much grey biography –<\/p>\n

a manhood, a birthright, even –<\/p>\n

seems mislaid in baggage no one<\/p>\n

can find on the accepted blueprints.<\/p>\n

No tears follow. Old age got to them.<\/p>\n

<\/em><\/p>\n

VII – A Song of Poverty<\/em><\/p>\n

The radish and onion grill our character<\/p>\n

but is less than a withered grain of rice.<\/p>\n

A dead cell phone cries out in tongues<\/p>\n

but is a chorus compared to a throat\u2019s crackle.<\/p>\n

The traffic \u2013 the horror!<\/p>\n

but a sniffle in a buffet of malady.<\/p>\n

Every landscape is a masquerade, only<\/p>\n

a burial ground truly recognize the days.<\/p>\n

VIII – Winter<\/em><\/p>\n

The dust of last season\u2019s grass, tidied in frost<\/p>\n

and yellow, unknowing mud frozen into place<\/p>\n

as corners of forgotten leaves glisten across<\/p>\n

the swirl of ghostly snow, breathing<\/p>\n

with diamond finality our shared epoch,<\/p>\n

the sleep of our remarkable compassion.<\/p>\n

IX – The Good Life<\/em><\/p>\n

The imprisoned revolutionaries toil in the kitchens<\/p>\n

to feed victorious guests clamoring in the doorway.<\/p>\n

The diseased build and rebuild the same palace, carving<\/p>\n

over-sized furniture from the very churches that lock them out.<\/p>\n

The useless, near extinct animals form a galloping choir<\/p>\n

harvested to perform Wagner, poolside nightly.<\/p>\n

Whole oceans turned brown are siphoned into canteens<\/p>\n

owned by the lovely and the landed, as if by law, if not destiny.<\/p>\n

X – A Girl\u2019s Song<\/em><\/p>\n

In a crystal parfait of jewels, a woman sparkles,<\/p>\n

a golden nectar schooling verse<\/p>\n

in a synthesis of every gender, where pleasure –<\/p>\n

the irreversible binomial of all eventide<\/p>\n

in an earth where symbiotics blend space and time.<\/p>\n

XI – Happiness<\/em><\/p>\n

There’s a special desk at the State Office<\/p>\n

of Dead Letters just for me.<\/p>\n

In my postal egotism I keep writing, on tenterhooks<\/p>\n

I’ll one day answer myself by mistake.<\/p>\n

But in the Ides night, an anniversary letter arrived<\/p>\n

that sealed my imaginings with its tang.<\/p>\n

To this I’m required new-fangled postage,<\/p>\n

perhaps even a new domicile so that I’m sure<\/p>\n

to receive seventy eras of new correspondence<\/p>\n

following me, from compassion through liberation.<\/p>\n

Adam Henry Carri\u00e8re<\/em> is a poet, teacher, and former NPR broadcaster. His writing has appeared in Tonopah Review, Mad Swirl,<\/em> Apparatus, decomP, Alternative Reel, The Smoking Book, Counterexample Poetics, Pushing the Envelope, Mayo Review, Juked,\u00a0 Zygote in My Coffee,\u00a0 Chiron Review, Strip, Tattoo Highway,<\/em> and The Bicycle Review.<\/em> Born on the South Side of Chicago, Adam now resides in Las Vegas, where he publishes<\/em> <\/em>Danse Macabre<\/em><\/a>, Nevada\u2019s first online literary magazine. He serves on <\/em>the Editorial Board of Popular Culture Review, and has been awarded the Literary Arts Fellowship in Poetry from the Nevada Arts Council.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Weather Here, have a tie-dye on those stripes, just a touch of white trash black on those flaming Hawaiian flowers; It\u2019s suffering succotash, dear, a hard-won head ache a purple-headed heart ache every blasted throb a 9-to-5 retail job. There is scientific interest in your own destabilization, clothed to the point of suffocation; major dope […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[12],"class_list":["post-767","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-april-2010","tag-adam-henry-carriere"],"yoast_head":"\nAdam Henry Carriere - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/04\/adam-henry-carriere\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Adam Henry Carriere - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Weather Here, have a tie-dye on those stripes, just a touch of white trash black on those flaming Hawaiian flowers; It\u2019s suffering succotash, dear, a hard-won head ache a purple-headed heart ache every blasted throb a 9-to-5 retail job. 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