"when I stood in Emily Dickinson’s bedroom…" and other work by Kenneth Goodman
when I stood in Emily Dickinson’s bedroom…
You who
breathe in my Address
eyeing my white writing dress—
beat-beat of your heart is Loud
but I may make your skin a Shroud
for stepping sole in my bedroom &
gazing out my Glass—
I could harden your heart to Tomb,
& can do it fast.
Lots of folks fall in love with me
now that I’m safely dead—
what makes you think I would have let
you backslide in my bed?
Writing poetry was my
Luminous Innerwear—
no suitor in some bodysuit
could possibly compare.
Leave
it to me
to feel…doubt…
moments after you:
Walk Out!
dinner bell for god-dam eaters
Mirror stainlessness : feast on
reflections’ clingy quality...
[this] mind hollow bell rings clear
through doomed
down body-me,
uninterruptedly, compassionately
now/outlasting all
failure to see...but
waiting to die to get it
misses instantly.
Actual I AM’s undyed by all
these sensory...
necktop auras
centerpiecing
feast of clarity.