david-matthew barnes
David-Matthew Barnes' fiction, poetry and stage plays have
appeared in several literary journals and magazines including
"The Best Stage Scenes of 2000", "The Comfusion
Review", "Slow Trains", "California Quarterly",
"Poetic Voices" and the upcoming issue of "Dazzling
Mica". He has recently completed his first novel, "Ambrosia"
and a collection of poetry, "Sins of The Flesh," which
will be published by Word Riot Press in March 2003. dmbarnes@davidmatthewbarnes.com
Sacred
An Internal Monologue...Dedicated to Katie Carey, who perfected
it.
I have never been to New Orleans,
But I have been inside your skull.
I do not know which is darker.
Pink lights play charades on the walls.
Some drunk girl is singing Black Velvet.
I smell vomit. I smell whiskey.
I smell my own fear,
So I look for you.
It seems like you should be here.
It seems like I've been here before.
I have never broken a window with bare hands,
But I have cleared off a crystal-covered mirror.
I do not know which happens quicker.
A bird dies on the front steps of an old Victorian,
From the stagnant smell of downtown Sacramento.
I think it was murder.
There is nothing that I can do but care
Feel guilty, hold my breath.
I wish I had a cage. I wish I had the nerve
Or the time to stop and make my own self fly.
I have never played the harp, the cello or the violin,
But I have slow danced with drunken strangers.
I do not know which can linger.
It is sad to say,
But I will admit
That the majority of those I laid down with
I felt nothing for but sometimes
Pity, boredom
But never shame.
Those that mattered I will not name.
I have never held a child that was my own,
But I have touched those that hate their mothers.
I do not know which is lonelier.
Some may laugh,
But I want the white picket fence,
The white carnations.
I want Shell Beach, the farmhouse and the sold out show.
The hands, the sand,
The dark haired, dimpled Italian
Just like Marco Leonardi.
I have never felt the kiss of death,
But I have been saved by Nick and time.
I do not know which is sweeter.
It happens on the freeway,
Just before midnight.
You are the passenger,
Not listening to the radio,
To the person beside you or your own voice.
You are looking out the window, to the skyline.
This is how you imagine heaven to be.
I have never been the headliner,
But I have gone down on the lead singer of the band.
I do not know which is harder to do.
Music is my comfort and I use it to drown
Out the deafening chords of my little tragedies and
Another loud mistake. So I hear them sing, not just
For money, but for me and my soul and the things
That I dare not say but feel, like black and blue
Melodies on my lips. I celebrate them, like friends,
Like parties and they are rock stars that I know.
I have never been in a war like Vietnam
But I have slept with many enemies
I do not know which was more useless
My generation is beautiful. Exploited
In their mothers clothes which have become cool again.
They are unhinged by their own fear of fear
And the desperation one feels while trying to be original
When it's already been done before and much, much better.
They are N'Synch and Neutrogena.
They are bad haircuts and Britney Spears.
They are murdering mothers and manic-depressives.
I have never been a prostitute,
But I have gone hungry for days.
I do not know which aches more.
I imagine the moment as something sacred.
A celebration - just like Mardi Gras -
Streamers, confetti. I want a parade.
Arms slide around my waist.
Fireworks explode with clichÈd reason.
He digs in to the plantation of my soul
And we watch the world below, from the terrace.
I have never been in love,
But I have seen the color of heartbreak.
I do not know which is more beautiful.
This Man's Watch
I wear it
Because I love him.
I slipped it off
His wrist, in between
Margaritas, Marlboros,
Muddled innuendo.
I sit on the sofa at Millie's party
Where everyone is drunk,
Listening to Maria McKee.
But I am watching the seconds turn
Like the hope dripping
From his melancholic slightly-buzzed face.
In a breath, he expresses
That a bedroom is what we need
Because we don't have much time.
In the fumbling dark
The numbers glow,
Illuminate the truth.
I love to watch him tremble
Tick tocking, hip cocking
To the rhythm of his sacred heart.
Early dawn is reflected
In the round, glass face of the morning after.
I know I have to give it back.
He gives me words and wishes,
I return his time.
My wrist burns naked
And I think about him,
At least until noon.
Angel
Inspired By Carolyn Forche'
Would you like a bowl of ice cream?
Or we can talk about the way you look
In that red and black trimmed
Athletic suit
That makes me
Want to sit in your lap
And tell you dark and dirty things.
Perhaps you can tell me more
About El Salvador
And although you miss it,
If you went back
You would be killed
And you never would have met
An American boy like me - who wants to kiss you.
I do all that you want me to,
Out of lust and for leverage.
I climb on top of your heart
And tug at the strings
That brings your chaos
Sliding down around your knees and pleases
Your fight for freedom.
I capture the glow and the heave
Of your breathless and remarkable
Gift to fill my void with your insatiable
Search for unconditional love in America.
And although we have come close,
There is more than frozen seconds
Between us - there lies
A country or two.
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