Tom Devaney

 

The Meaning of Slowness

A small fire burns off to the side
out of the picture really;
take if you don't find,
you don't have to be told.

The telling, mindless
touching, the quilt's texture,
the overwhelming approach
to the coast, the line.

Every screen,
in a way-a way in.
The plans for your plans
are true, sketched out
in your next storyboard meeting.

 

Assaulting Revealed Religion

Right and right; the tyranny of beautiful eyes.
He continued to serve the Devil.
It was a crime punishable under a 1937 law
by up to five years imprisonment.
Harum scarum the walking riot. The world is clear;
things are black and white; sneakers and butternut;
you feel his thoughts, savor their opulence.
The sky is blue, Egypt and a small wooden desk.
The story is scattered in sturdy old shoes everywhere.
The part people call romance shifted the supernatural to his feet
making much of the mysterious effects of magic, spells,
enchantments-two children in serious talk.
This was his threat. They told him he would come to a bad end.

 

A Return to Glory
after Samuel Clemens

First one hound and then another
went for the man walking across the field.

Knowing dogs, he stopped,
faced them, keeping still in their pow-wow.

Like that, a hub of a wheel, spokes
made out of the dogs,

circle of fifteen stretched up
and on him, a barking, tackling,

howling and more a coming,
sailing over fences (the field

coming toward him across the field)
and around corners from everywheres.

 

Degradation Way

It's a visually rich place,
The threatened call it every chance they can
Still, five thousand demons know your name.
They never use it, but hold an idol threat,
which is all they need to do, to do the job.
You fall in with cat lovers, coffee attics and people
          with beautiful hair.
They surprise you with the hoops they will,
but mostly won’t jump through;
take you down with them, the threats weren’t idol.
Take you from places filled of super weirdoes,
bring you to others filled with same—their bastard kin.
Those are the people in the picture.

Only the amoebas are happy
After Ernesto Neto

It’s difficult to walk right
into the amoeba.
A surprising lack of give.

Wading through
two feet in
to this biomorpic pillow—

not what you expect.
Not not for kids,
but not really.

Shoes, bracelets, headphones,
boots; everything on the floor,
every thing a pile.

Body displaces the place
you land—beads, white
spandex habitat buttons.

Something does,
something does not hold
its shape.

The Big Bang
of bean-bags—
a lot of sewing going on.

Barra-bola, styrofoam making
its escape patterns over
the poured concert.

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