9.1.23

Three Poems by Damon Hubbs

From the Misadventures of Sir Thomas Browne’s Skull


(Note: In 1840, Sir Thomas Browne’s skull was removed from the St. Peter Mancroft Church in Norwich when his coffin was “accidentally” disturbed by workmen. The skull wasn’t returned to lie with the rest of Browne’s earthly remains until 1922. In addition to writing “Religio Medici,” “Urne-Buriall” and “Pseudodoxia Epidemica,” the 17th century physician and essayist is credited with coining dozens of words including medical, hallucination, electricity, exhaustion coma, ulterior and therapeutic.)


#6: Ulterior


collating bones 

& books 

in a quincunx 

of exhibition halls featuring 

such Audio Tour favorites as

Batrachomyomachia,

or the Homerican Battel between Frogs and Mice

& Pytheas Beyond Ultima Thule—

where’s your ticket Mr. Bones

says the guard 

but then it’s gone 

all gone, the art & artifacts

the impossible objects, forgotten 

footnoted

the map of Musaeum Clausum 

drawn in phantom vistas 

      unsealed 

from my back-

pocket 

& windswept 

across phosphate floors


#7: Therapeutic


Whenever I feel blue

I think of your body 

hanging from morning 

till 4 in the afternoon 

& the 20-foot pike 

on the roof of Westminster Hall

your head, Cromwell, lollypopping

in the English breeze


Noir Set Piece


bean shooter

four-flusher 

last drag of a smoldering gasper

elephant ears heeled, rodded 

goons

in a blind alley

     only the moon 

winks

lead 

          squirt, dut 

dut

  dut  

          brrrrrt

zzzzz, dut dut


zotzed………


night locked 

in a cage 

of rain


watching 

from a diner

across the street 

a waitress 

with amnesia


wakes 

up 


recoiling 

at the greedy touch 

of hot plates  


Jack 

falls

from 

an 

open 

valise


All-Inclusive


but 

the room 

key is lost 


same 

can’t be said 

for our baggage


the lobby’s 

caged birds bicker

& shriek 


the sea 

is just beyond 

the balcony


we can’t see it 

despite the king 

with partial view


you buy a new 

bathing suit,

killing time


I look 

at the terrible 

golden emptiness 


irradiating 

from the hotel’s 

paintings

 

Damon Hubbs