Laura Sims
My mind, Olga-Helga, is broad
in its plain, uncanny
and mellowing. Go on, build
a cottage of air. Through the ages we two
will ride furious
ponies. You ride
in front, I’ll ride the carousel
back to the nadir
of time. Then I’ll just
hang around, parading
my skin
in the sun
of considerable longing
Surprise! I have not
found my half. Flesh
hanging in tatters. Flush done
run out. You will
join me here. You will cross
the open-mouthed plains. You’ll abandon
your habits of yore: I will not. I intend
I intend
I intend to fill up
the nearest ravine
while you’re
plaiting your hair. While you’re plumping
your heart. Full of love, dearest
Olga, I’m holding
aloft
the browning old flag, the dead
rag on the counterfeit
dollar
When our two
structures meet, we will conjure
us children. Til then
roam the streets
of your starved
little town, 60 miles
from the nearest metropolis. Sayansk or
Shatsk
or Seversk. Birsk, Belaya,
Belinsky.
Vichuga,
Vetluga,
Uray. Cherkessk. I’m coming. I cannot be
pressed. I’m like nature
like that. In time I will gather you
into my smallest
intestine
Dear Olga, your heat
showers pummel
my putrefied flesh. What juices
malign this esophagus? For what
gloried god? My god
Olga-Helga, my god loves to sing. If you do too,
send your beery self
over. Red
rover me here, make it
snappy. I am half-sick
of waiting, love, and
shadders
Life is a wonderful lot
if it is not over. Oh Life, please do not
be over. Let me watch
Olga’s feet become
cross-hatched with wire. And the
stars cross her rounded
protuberance. Something in me
wants out that machines
cannot reach. Something
in me lies down. I recline in the
tunnel that rotates and
bangs: hello
hello
hello
my love
your cells
are in my brain
__________
These poems are from a series-in-progress tentatively titled The Olga Poems. I began writing them as responses to spam messages I (and others) received from “Russan brides” offering sex & companionship; the poems evolved from there.
My mind, Olga-Helga, is broad
in its plain, uncanny
and mellowing. Go on, build
a cottage of air. Through the ages we two
will ride furious
ponies. You ride
in front, I’ll ride the carousel
back to the nadir
of time. Then I’ll just
hang around, parading
my skin
in the sun
of considerable longing
Surprise! I have not
found my half. Flesh
hanging in tatters. Flush done
run out. You will
join me here. You will cross
the open-mouthed plains. You’ll abandon
your habits of yore: I will not. I intend
I intend
I intend to fill up
the nearest ravine
while you’re
plaiting your hair. While you’re plumping
your heart. Full of love, dearest
Olga, I’m holding
aloft
the browning old flag, the dead
rag on the counterfeit
dollar
When our two
structures meet, we will conjure
us children. Til then
roam the streets
of your starved
little town, 60 miles
from the nearest metropolis. Sayansk or
Shatsk
or Seversk. Birsk, Belaya,
Belinsky.
Vichuga,
Vetluga,
Uray. Cherkessk. I’m coming. I cannot be
pressed. I’m like nature
like that. In time I will gather you
into my smallest
intestine
Dear Olga, your heat
showers pummel
my putrefied flesh. What juices
malign this esophagus? For what
gloried god? My god
Olga-Helga, my god loves to sing. If you do too,
send your beery self
over. Red
rover me here, make it
snappy. I am half-sick
of waiting, love, and
shadders
Life is a wonderful lot
if it is not over. Oh Life, please do not
be over. Let me watch
Olga’s feet become
cross-hatched with wire. And the
stars cross her rounded
protuberance. Something in me
wants out that machines
cannot reach. Something
in me lies down. I recline in the
tunnel that rotates and
bangs: hello
hello
hello
my love
your cells
are in my brain
__________
These poems are from a series-in-progress tentatively titled The Olga Poems. I began writing them as responses to spam messages I (and others) received from “Russan brides” offering sex & companionship; the poems evolved from there.