ERIC ANDERSON
from Good Death Will Come and Drink the Rabbit Water
we left Quinton, Pilgrim’s Pa, in bed, still in sleep, drugged, slept
as the ceiling buckled, caving in in all kinds of millenarian come-
down sound
uncosmic orchestrate
half sigh, half hallelujah & us three in the hallway
trying to find, to make a way out with what little scope was left
compass of wood smoke
streetlight
until the outside air, the front steps under us, above the bends that made nest
in the crawlspace but got smoked out, scared & took to Pilgrim on the lawn
two teeth to the high cut of thigh
vampiric insignate
Pilgrim making no rah rah but still a lot of red & me & Missouri
crossing the yard slow to see, slow as with wind in our weapons
& as eggs is eggs
Pilgrim couldn’t stay standing, stepping with some othered gait
grape drank
slipped in his sippy cup, such counterfeited billing making its way to stage
gentle within
which hymn furies all frantic
sing incantate
the come begin!
come victim!
our dim begin!
Missouri at one limb & me lifting another up into the up up & up
from our angle
the crabapple trees give part, give way
cosmotectic perspective
telescoping windowing the what not, what we know we shouldn’t be
a dip, a dance
a hail of incoming mail, an ode, a thirty toed warhead of ten tons by best guess unwelcome guests
a dip, a dance
a doom dressed up in dandies
a canister filled at the corner pump station & Quinton’s living room
behind us
collapsing
at the movies
me & Pilgrim didn’t see his old man, Quinton lead Missouri back
behind the big screen, featured
replacement sapience
landscape fade-in
tell me what the owls do when they enter your room
we sat, saw Fourth Kind, on Quinton’s dime
a matinée
an I’m sorry for that one time & Pilgrim bring your two friends from up the street
to see the movie
the movie & Milla
with her big sky blue apple pie eyes, matte black alexipharmic lashes
so all the go
chroma damage branching the only recordings of her unholy chorus
minds wave-tinging to owls at edge-forest, o Alaskan phantasmagoric flora
o moon-science
shit-stirred in world-syrup
evening trees, ovenbirds, epigastric passages spoken
the possessed bend back, broken, occulted
thighs vibratory like the finger bones of Buddha were wiggled between them
all geezed up
ad intra, adumbrated animals every night, say at three
& Pilgrim leaned into me, said
Milla, see, she just puts juice in my pan, can make any man dizzy
like if she were here, in this seat, he said
pointing at me
she’d be bacon & eggs
I’d be egg sweat & gravy
no nose bleeds in the evening
no, no sir, no, yes goddammit
I did the dishes
mid-movie, Milla counting down from ten
on screen attic gods shaking their alien rattles & everything nibbled to death
Missouri said Quinton’s left
gone broke the needle, tried to play her, make her go Hollywood on him
in the men’s room
hummed a woo
boo boo ba boo
bourbon burped in her ear, hocus pocus, it’s just the two of us
till a stranger said, stop from a stall along the far wall
gentle within
so Quinton slipped her an ace note
said not to say shit
claimed he’s a fancy man, can guzzle the grape
but Misery held her place, stuck a safety pin in his pants
aimed high for his hype stick
& all she got was a bit lip, finger bruises that Pilgrim had too
is this the same owl
your parents see
yes it’s smiling down at me
Pilgrim twisted his house key in the theater seat
& I said we can give him, deliver him a good backcountry baptism
lit rag crammed in a Jack bottle, kerosene can take the straw that’s in him
& Pilgrim said he’ll steal the barking piece
pa kept under the bed
& the bullets in the shed
all six
one for the sake to say it ain’t empty
one for the heifer who’s udder aches
one in case first we mean to miss
one with Misery etched on its tip
one a black flag for now or never
one throat wild
to holler horror toward heaven
in Quinton’s Chevy
arrow tip aiming west, August all in the broken window
& Missouri knows we can’t take Pilgrim back to the bughouse
like his pa did
after Quinton went to town on him, committed him
said Pilgrim wanted dead, went eye-water
dilated
so they placed him in restraints, florescent space, fastened to sleep
admitted, enervated, saline dripped
into left arm, bruise branching
yellow, dark
his shoulders held to keep from teeth reach, boundaries, polycarbonated doors
hallways of every state of stay calm
restrained in the swimmer’s position, one arm raised, other at the hip
arrangement of risk, tied ankles wrists
Pilgrim, our pilgrim of safety scissors, trashcans
lined with paper bags
so not to self-suffocate
inundated, they gave him the circus
antipsychotics
xibalbanal
zombie apron
ativan
swoon
balloon juice
can you say who’s in the room with you
D is for Dinner Theater, Defensive Wound, Devils On Horseback
Cindy singing ditties into a red swizzle stick.
Lavender, living trill of laughter
destined to look like an extravagant accident.
And Andrew riding the aluminum side of his lottery ticket; pompholyx, powder, flowers of arsenic, butter of zinc.
You be the lonely lover, I'll be the police.
Cindy, born marmalade to admire, lie chalk-lit
in the whodunit,
lips puckered like a cinnamon nipple.
Chief, the mint pea should be cold as a corpse.
Elaine, ___________
Reporter, please note,
"Oh, God" and "If only."
Eric Anderson was born in Alexandria, Virginia. His work has appeared in American Letters & Commentary, Black Warrior Review, Columbia Poetry Review and elsewhere.