Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ADORATION, by JANE MILLER



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ADORATION, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Now I have come from the berg string quartet opus 3
Last Line: Do it, do it, do it in the perforated gleam of the dollhouse window.
Subject(s): Art & Artists; Success


Now I have come from the Berg String Quartet Opus 3
performed by the Young Artists of the Taos School
home in a sperm of rain
that declares itself to the loaded fireplace
as dead as the world last Friday
though God knows there is a drought in every other state
we live by voices we shall never hear.

May the violent haystack consuming himself as a young man
(that night I went misshapenly to witness the Los Angeles Lakers)
be eaten off the table by the broadening sun
and not the barkeep who bloodies the evening steak.
He was not soundlessly spilling his Miller
onto a manufactured Mexican teen, but I saw and was
hoarse by the time he will reach her alarm

under the stars' neon shoes, stepping lightly over the firmament
of Oglivie's where the plane trees yellow the margaritas
of the yellow moon behind them, and the brown moon of rain drowns
the elbow moon of that face coming closer to crumbling
before we can choose, before we can announce there is a choice,
before we can prove there is, there was.
I have a handle on my jeans where I would provide

that turn in the town where the tourists meet the art trade
for the firewood they will burn next winter
while skiers fly overhead in an enforced frieze,
a bride a minute beholding Agua Fria Peak in her Angel Fire
T-shirt, while her husband ejaculates from an Air Force jet,
where once there were a few now many,
once a hundred now a state of collapse, a couple of

dogs who pitch and yaw all night for a little water.
For now is the opening the art world belittled, the V-neck and
the bedspread, the stockinged leg, the chain and gear
makeup, the turquoise that lights the lights of the lights
that are lit, our souls nippled with antennae so the world will
hear, the party will know we were the ones who trained like mad to
do it, do it, do it in the perforated gleam of the dollhouse window.





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