December 6, 2012

Ace Boggess

“CAN THEY DO THAT?”

asked by Johnny Redmond

They can feed you pulverized bones
of rat, but not the eyes or hair.
They can softly submerge your face in the sink,
never the toilet without a showing of cause.
They can sing country western songs
all night off key as you try to sleep,
rap on Fridays, rhythm & blues in the afternoon,
though heavy metal would violate your rights.
They can laugh at your inadequacy.
They can kick you, but only when you’re down.
They’ll seduce your wife with white roses &
tales of your exploits floundering
like a bear with no arms & broken wings.
On a good day they might leave you alone
(a good day for you, for they have none).
They can spin you in a centrifuge,
dress you in dresses, dance on your grave,
can tie your shoelaces in a knot
(don’t say they cannot) then lock
your fingers in a Chinese puzzle
so you struggle until you disappear,
a Theseus walking threadless into a maze.

from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

__________

Ace Boggess: “Despite my last shrink telling me I had ‘nothing textbook wrong with me,’ a lifelong battle with social anxiety led me both to writing and opiate addiction. The latter brought a short life of crime and a much longer prison term in West Virginia, where I serve as inmate legal rep. (Motto: ‘You’re probably screwed, but we’ll see what we can do.’) As such, I often get asked questions like the one that inspired ‘Can They Do That?’.” (web)

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November 26, 2012

Ace Boggess

ABSENT DEAREST

I walked among the graves alone
except for those dead names
collected in the whisper-basket for my tongue.
Crossing muddy easements, my face slicked with fine rain
that brought cologne’s scent like wine & citrus off my skin,
I knew no one’s Lithia Ledford, wife of Lee;
no Sherry, Raymond, Eric & Baby Quails;
not a single Irvin Bell, infant, son of Erma Jean.
I met them, faded images enshrined in frames:
Lewis Benson, Elsey Lamar, James Everett Eudy
the third, the fourth & the fifth.
Were you there to witness their Civil War memorials,
their fragile elephants carved like marble teddy bears,
to count their dates & read their names aloud with me—
Mrs. Lazano, Hope running, Rev. Ronald Lovinggood
you would have welcomed love into your breath.
Distant, your name waited in twilit West Virginia,
surrounded by graves for rivers, shifting plates
that have no names we know, their monuments
extending to the clouds. Still, I praised your name,
Love, strolling through the cemetery dark.
It was the voice of reason in my head,
the voice of remembering
as though I held your hand & led you
from that silence, voice absence
of your name, my name, their whispers.

from Rattle #21, Summer 2004

__________

Ace Boggess: “I describe myself as a literary novelist writing on existential themes. I’ve devoted a decade to working on these books. So, in the true spirit of existentialism, at parties I get introduced as ‘my friend Ace, the poet.’ Still, with a new agent on the case I hope to sell my latest novel, States of Mercy.”

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