Poem by Scott Keeney

Gravitational Hum


I am not a teacher. I am a fallen man
whose thoughts have kept him off the ground
or tethered to it depending on how you want
to view it, whose paradise is restricted
movement with a healthy dose of daffy
etiquette, whose unforgettable vision is
the cosmic footloose Holsteins in the tall grass
of I love you, whose lion’s mouth lacks
teeth and lips and rarely moves its tongue,
whose Labrador balls work by amplifying
the available hum voltage from the signals
of alien antennae vibrating in the sunlight,
whose guardian angel trembles in hallways,
parking lots, and malls, any time it’s dark,
whose psoriatic skin reciprocates the lime
conditions of the day, whose bones yack
but have no say. But let’s say our bodies house
the art we like, our color field hyperstations,
our ambient perambulations or port and starboard
symphonies, our carefully constructed
omnivalence noir, the duende word guitar
that brings us where we already are if only
we had recognized its salient, present features
like tambourine time shaking in our hair as
our stomachs growl into cavernous echoes
like concentric ideas calling us to mud meaning
mud as a verb, to volcano vein meaning ripple
and pull like gravitational waves, to reptile
meaning you’re alone with the one you love
the way a couple of atoms kiss into a molecule.


Scott Keeney’s poems have appeared in Court Green, failbetter, NYQ, Poetry East, Shampoo, and elsewhere. A limited edition volume, Sappho Does Hay(na)ku, was published in 2008.

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