Poems by Corbett Buchly

4.4 billion

by Corbett Buchly

From Canary Spring 2021

Corbett abides at the headwaters of the Trinity River on the Blackland Prairie, a nearly flat landscape in all directions. Daily he grounds himself, bare soles against the dark, fertile clay soil.

before life mindless disorder reigned
slowly coalescing then bursting
apart again, in the void of voice
no song, no grunt, only the hiss
and sigh of the universe settling,
both stupid and stupefying

micro-organisms did not blink into being
as if suddenly ignited
no spear of lightning, no divine touch

but from a sky devoid of air
and a carbon-heavy sea
lingering in the hot fluids
of thermal vents, chemicals arranged
dull and chaotic, they came together
drifted apart, over and again
as complexity ambled forward

fats, sugars and acids circled each other
a feint, a jab, a hold, a grab
a spontaneous epoch-long jazz hustle
the steps grew intricate
as dancers learned their partners
hypnotized by the sway of hot current
the dancers discovered a desire
to dance until time itself retires

hardly a flash of progress
in a hundred lifetimes
a billion failures strung out
like splotches of blackest ink on star-blue page
but bit by agonizing bit, this primordial glue got
around to the business of self-replication
as if all matter and idea find their path toward increase

no Hollywood plot or holy providence
this existence is miracle enough

no intelligence was witness
to sound the trumpet or beat the drums
to record the conditions or write the recipe
no one took a Polaroid

no one can start a secret
when no one is there to begin

© Corbett Buchly

factious reptile & witness

by Corbett Buchly

From Canary Summer 2020

anole bright shooting across the gray worn fence
your tail imprisoned by the lance of a boy’s fingers
snap and twist, your instinct to resist

but the struggle is lost before you’ve begun
and you find yourself surrounded by new world
clinging through the day to the terrarium’s wall

you move only to blink, celestial lethargy
or to snatch the locust in your narrow maws
blinding haste, electric leaps

black-eyed primordial spirit
silent watcher from captivity
the kitchen’s bleak-faced haunt

all night you cling to the aerated roof
long toes splayed in pure paradigm stillness
as if defiance is your natural motion

this evening I discover you hunched
over your cup of water, reservoir
of strength. your eyes closed against the shadow

as if drawing up your will into a battery
of dream and rebellion you are
confined to the deep well

of solitary for the crime of pride
or showmanship neither of which suggest just
cause for possession of the spirit

before breakfast I stare into your small quarters through a rectangle
of dirty plastic, you tilt your head to study
with one black eye

that black speaks struggle without blood
I have no stomach for this stand-off
this division is all heavy sided

you with your baleful eye, black as ache
I with my guilt, white as past

in darkness I slip by slumbering breaths
into the kitchen where you wait, like a thief
I lift your cage into stillness

and carry it into the lawn of clipped grass
I will not wait for death yours or mine
I unhinge the door

without kindness your body says ciao
without words you fly

© Corbett Buchly

seeds in flight

Allen, Texas, 2019, waiting for youth baseball

by Corbett Buchly

From Canary Summer 2020

tufts of poplar seeds
spring up in the hot breeze
as if too light or ardent for rules

purportedly scouting
the most fertile soil not yet claimed

but I can tell by their glib movement
the seeds, like all young in their prime
are flirting with the wind

my blood in those days trained me to reckless acts
sedate and logical were not in the lexicon of body

who knew only mad, headlong movement into longing
fame and oblivion, two points on the same line
but what began as thrust pulled back down by weight

of age and alcohol and attrition of tendon on bone
what counted for danger became tea and a quiet evening under the lamp

as the page struggles to remember
what summer tastes like
and what it means to grab the wind

unplug. eat away. turn out.

by Corbett Buchly

From Canary Spring 2021

unplug all the phones
rip the wires from the walls
dislodge the wheel from the crankshaft
and melt the tire iron in a torrent of fire
dash the television with the microwave
be done with them both
get the chainsaw stuck
let the teeth sink to rust
give back the gas to those fossil fields
grind your mobile in the disposal
return to machine language
before there were machines
think in ones and zeroes by kissing
your loved ones – or not
topple the towers – radio, radar, microwave
now the realm for nature and cosmic whispering
open your veins over the ink wells of the automatic press
go to press with sheets of solid red
gum up the works
until media conglomerates crumble
eaten away by dull speech
put hearing aids to the heel of your boot
let pacemakers run their course
eat your batteries
and shit acid undiluted
like puritanical alchemists
wire the MRI to the CAT scan
let them overload with morbid minutiae
go back to healing with intuition
it worked for the Sumerians
unwind all the film
and burn it with the Hubble lens
stand in awe at the new colors invented and destroyed
take pot shots at satellites with aging rockets
like the world’s biggest penny arcade
turn off the damn life support
raise your own food
from the dry dirt
don’t bathe
sleep under the stars
shiver
uncontrollably
turn out the goddamn lights