Todd Garland Poems

1.
Poems are daemons to exorcized—
things without names, unthings named.
Poems lurk in primordial sea— the deathmute
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Sleep’s statistical clutters quicken
desiderata of schedules wanting—
hegemony from standings trumpeting
triumph and trophy consummating…
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What if my name was Marco Fluno?
What if I drank a flagon of ouzo?
What if I flew to the moon’s o’Juno?
Would you go with me then?
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mollify
light ignite
hunger moon
all is night
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Abed, waterbed, childbed, seabed,
sickbed, riverbed, roadbed, streambed,
hotbed, flatbed, featherbed, deathbed,
daybed, trundle bed, embed, test bed,
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Haunted…floor frequented,
my mother is dying...
alone all by herself.
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A stony eve at the Bedlam Ball,
An ursine scene entrancing,
As all about the charnel hall
The bears they were a dancing.
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When we who dream in subtle greens,
awaken to the black of things—
a smile upon a faceted mask,
cries within the simple breast.
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The Child is the Father of the Man
And I wish my days could be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
___Ode: Intimations of Immortality from
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Would you eschew what a shoe might construe?
Does it sound from its sole, task with its tongue,
is there puppetry where its strings are strung?
Do its eyes cast evil, is its heel well-heeled,
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