Three Poems

by Reuben Gelley Newman

JOY BOY AT THE BRANDED SALOON

     after Julius Eastman, Kebra-Seyoun Charles, and ChamberQUEER

Forty queers congregating in the back room
Sappho fragments slicing the air like preserved lemon

the ensemble garbed in garrulous clothes,
the soprano flaunting an Eastman tee

soon the strings begin to gossip,
the Queen of Sheba putting on airs

while I sip my pint with petulance,
cider-giddy, cold comfort

mindfuckery of low serotonin
a relationship that suddenly

warps wet wood the horsehair
bow frays as the bassist

figures the chords into spark
baroque diminutions or royal

fireworks a harpsichord’s rococo carriage
violin jaunting above my mind’s

fence then hush then swell
then joy refracted irreverence

the phrase dragonfly cock
shimmering above the lake

of my desire then a bullfrog chorus
interrupts the night then the heel of

their fancy shoe falls off you won’t
help find tape Bitch they say

once I wanted to be a crystal chandelier
or perhaps Cinderella’s singular glass slipper

now I’m just a joy boy—never a mere
boy toy—pondering the difference

between here and hear, ere, eyre, and air,
as in Handel’s Water Music, as in Corelli’s follies,

as in failure, shoe-slip or voice crack,
a new composition sacredly stitched

together, a nonchalant chorale
easy as faith

PICTURE OF BUNNY RABBIT

     for Arthur Russell; album release party, 6/24/2023

Happy birthday Mr. Fuzzbuster in the underwater comet
Mustaches of Honey Moon Coffee Shop nose rings of a cello’s loop
Hard seltzer kombucha fizz cool grasp of a Modelo coral sanctuary
Vinyl vamps a hipster takes out playing cards keyboard’s spackled step
Over tile I listened until eyebrow fuzz fell off my earlobe feedback harm-
Onies humpback warm guitar whalebone expeditiously bopping one’s head
If I asked for a noise that would rim the cortical lobe if amplified swarm
If I asked for an electric eel of a melody where in the undergrowth
The rabbit peeks discotechnically disconnected from the staid houses
Of Onderdonk Avenue I wanted want until want became wont
To wobble this your percussive star to harmonica this your cumulus smile
Tonic flight leaning into the multisyllabic rabbit run of miracle
We all leaned in yes blowing out the birthday candle

MEADOW :: MEDIO

     Mabe Fratti, “En Medio”
     Robert Duncan, “Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow”

::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::

My shadow dog-walking her shadow
Our dog flash-flinching at the motorcyclist’s sputter

In whose name do you cut my heart open

There’s someone in the middle of my forest
Often I return to the meadow of her song

Hay alguien en medio :: near homonym of English
meadow :: medio :: middle of the meadow      in media res

::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::

As Mabe Fratti sings it, the word alguien—
someone disappears into song, in-

habits the bridge of cello where
horsehairs flit against steel :: en-

jambed swerve birdish into sky
where Robert Duncan folds

the architecture of field
into pasture :: meadow :: grass

I shape the glade of my larynx
inside this cello :: our dog barks

as my uncle lifts his arm
from the chair’s arm

::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::

Orpheus stencils his voice
into triplets :: minimal

effort :: maximal meadow ::
our dog is the lithe pup

of Cerberus, all bluster
no bite :: it still weirds me

having an animal to feed,
to walk, of whom to pick up

the shit :: her chair flowing in the blue
cloth with a sizzling fried-egg print,

every pattern feels random
& innate, it is like this, too,

in loving :: you are the you
in my poems, yes, I’m liminally

in love with you :: minimal time
spent together in this our city of work

we listen to minimalism & I want
to see you more, to maximalize us,

but that’s so technocratic, isn’t it?—
try this :: sweet days of falcon on wrist,

hound at my side, money
in my pocket :: yes, get this,

capitalism crows its
cough within me

like us all :: but listen—      meadow
     in the middle of my chest

::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::      ::

Someday you’re gonna find me there
en medio of myth

all my play uninhibited
all image & word habitual

to the point of being
eternal :: here’s Orpheus

here’s Eurydice :: no one has to look
backward or forward at any other

meadow-soul :: in this meadow all song
echoes into itself :: time is the illusion

Persephone’s pomegranate seeds
drip like beaded sixteenth notes in a constant

patter :: & matter is dark, full of amp-
     er      sands, sound slipping into

you, & me, & another, infinite dog,
& cats who are even more infinite ::

forest in the middle of my heart
meadow en medio of poem

Reuben Gelley Newman (he/him) is the author of Feedback Harmonies (Seven Kitchens Press), a chapbook inspired by the musician Arthur Russell. He is a writer, musician, and librarian-in-training based in New York City, and he coedits for Couplet Poetry. Recent poems have appeared in Only Poems, Salamander, mercury firs, Tyger Quarterly, and Afternoon Visitor.

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