From the Defense

by Ray Succre

Raising is synched, the full present tense,
and the statements of those before me
pass by my ear as echoes, neighbors,
goodnights, summer hornets, even spent diapers.

Consider me proud or wary, both.

Copyright © Ray Succre 2008

Obscurity in Suits

by Ray Succre

Of story there in the dusting hatches,
are suits, from floor, suspending
two women in a spectral pan
of reds and whites, which has him
remember to read passages side to side,
to take wife and then assail, to have
the floor swept clear of fallen things.

Copyright © Ray Succre 2008

Pupil Teach Pupil

by Ray Succre

"In each of your works, you
must represent the figurative everyone."

So respectful, like a newlywed's pen lays
red upon her thanks.

"Elusivity is key; be straightforward
about it."

Do I chance the meaning on choice of
word, or should I perch the purpose on
the flux itself?

No no, you pass it normalized, pass it
nowadays, but have in mind you must
denominate, and if lacking mirth,
for fuck's sake spice it up at the end.

Copyright © Ray Succre 2008

The Quibble's Ram

by Ray Succre

When a Thursday came blackly, came apart,
frame, nail, hang—
he placed up my painting like
dossier, like pride,
and there by cabbages
(the day celebration corned beef and),
the states ate Irish while
Saint Patrick’s Day spread up my father
as ashes in a tool box
I built in middle-school shop,
trying my hands at his trade.

Move ahead of him, I think,
so young, some Thursday,
never an elixir weapon has come without
the billows-head,
and so drink little, drowse bits at time,
or face father were all his blasters capped brief,
the end, partial and permanent as a vacancy.

Never pass him, I think.

Copyright © Ray Succre 2008