Broom Broom. Brecken Hancock

Broom Broom - Brecken Hancock


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BROOM BROOM

      BROOM

      BROOM

      Brecken Hancock

      Coach House Books | Toronto, Ontario

      Copyright © Brecken Hancock, 2014

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Distribution of this electronic edition via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please do not participate in electronic piracy of copyright material; purchase only authorized electronic editions. We appreciate your support of the author’s rights.

      Published with the generous assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. Coach House Books also acknowledges the support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit.

      LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

      Hancock, Brecken

      Broom Broom / Brecken Hancock – First edition.

      Poems.

      Issued in print and electronic formats.

      eISBN 978-1-77056-379-7

      I. Title.

      PS8579.M359P74 2013 cC811′.54 C2013-907669-7

      For The Moms

       I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me. – Swinburne

      Mommy, I’d rather have you dead than crazy. – Yoko Ono

      PROLOGUE

      BEFORETIMES. Uranus culls his gilded camels and bathes in the Baikal, the Zaysan, the Lanao. He wades in low-lying plains, spas in every rain-filled meteor crater. Sixty-fourth parallel, March. Sunlight fires a salvo off his lover’s collarbone. Gaia’s slums hoard water, Asmat mud and patches of pubic forest. Her valleys are aqueducts feeding antechambers of lakes: caravans of bathtubs clawing overland talon by talon according to deep time, glacial wake, geochemistry. Lake Agassiz Basin. Morass hollow, calderas. Gathering my hair off the pillow, I rise from the spill on our sheets to bathe. Oceanus – Titan of the brutish Atlantic, master of Ketos and Kraken, conductor of sky to land. Half-man, half-serpent; horizon marks the fix. Biceps of accumulated cloud ceiling the sea. He’ll rip your ship apart for a violin. His tail’s a woman’s braid dropped deep. And over its mucus and muscled carbuncles, legions of mollusc princes ascend, knot by knot by octopus tapas – crabs’ pincers and half-spumed clams – through bergs of cloying oil slick, plagues of dross, black-blooming purple and a drowned Cassiopeia of phosphor. Abyssss. Germs fermenting in the kegs of their slow-moving shells. Up through the punchholes of Poseidon’s belt, out through the tunnels of his prosthetic manifold, svelte pipelines, immaculate taps – an invertebrate army comes to kiss the slit where my tail splits, two legs.

      BRECKEN

      Booze tides me.

      TV abides me.

      My tits slung

      astride me,

      I noose quiet

      to lie with me.

      My other husband’s

      a broom.

      HUSHA

      Some animals eat their young.

      Animals sweet on their young.

      Sh shh, sleep, little ones.

      Carson says fetal sharks scarf

      each other to abortion. Yum yum

      in Mom’s womb. It’s on YouTube.

      Lance says male dolphins will gang

      rape a lady dolphin to death. Stuff her

      blowhole, can’t take a breath.

      Tucky whispers, Your cousin fucked

      a bunny. But I can’t imagine

      enough room in her tummy.

      SANDY

      Her bed gown brides her.

      She’s dumb as a broom.

      Her quiets swim inside her.

      Daddy can’t shut-eye her

      boggled doll peekaboo.

      Her bed gown brides her.

      We can’t identify her

      as Sandy, per se. She’s make-do.

      Her quiets swim inside her.

      Ghouls queue to ride her.

      Oozing like a fistula,

      her bed gown brides her.

      Mother’s meat’s in a wilder

      chaos, but she got her due.

      Her quiets swim inside her.

      I’ll smother her if I find her

      inside me. Monkey see? I do.

      I do. Her bed gown brides her

      toward quiet. I swim inside her.

      LAKE EFFECT

      Snow blinds the deer hearse.

      Snow needles the blood purse.

      Snow porridge in the hobo’s bowl.

      Snow angels spread for ripper’s toll.

      Dormers dripping toilet paper.

      Castles of albino crows.

      Amniotic impersonator.

      Vomit stipples Mommy’s clothes.

      Come snow, come sleep,

      Bleach our red curtains

      To surrender. O molester,

      Put the animals to bed.

      Bed the trees;

      Rid us of forecast.

      Calm the alabaster

      Masts of dream.

      Come dream, snow,

      Bear in the cavern,

      Rat in the cistern.

      Every little chit in its hole.

      Make us kid-glove clean again,

      Intestines fresh from the fast.

      Lay out your skin to swaddle our feet,

      Snow madonnas maquillaged in ash.

      WINTER, FRONTAL LOBE

      Dark where Dad chops a hole.

      Tunk. Dark hair blighted

      by snow bees, his axe

      trepanning the tarn’s top.

      Beneath what’s frozen

      slighted bodies blob up

      from the


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