SurVision Magazine
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An
international online magazine that
publishes Surrealist poetry
in English.
Issue Three
TOM HOLMES
Arachnophobia
Today
the spiders tapped
on the door, and I shoved
a towel underneath it.
They tapped again.
I turned off the lights
and hid behind the couch.
One puts its leg in the keyhole
and twist the lock open.
There's a tragic moment
when a mother's at work,
and strangers enter her home
without her having a say.
I'm caught with my diapers down,
without any legal counsel
or my one allowed phone call.
They swaddle me in webbery
and say, "It's better for you to live
in an enlightened eight-legged world,
and when you mother comes home,
she'll be happy to have it to herself
as we'll have eaten all the roaches."
Electrical Failure
Again the lights go out
starfish suckle the window
the shaky skinned man
dressed in white suit tie and hat
flicks cigarette ashes at them
he tucks his nose into a breast pocket
his partner smelling of tarragon
touches my hand and imagines gloves
and our closet filled with shoes
battery-operated clocks tick and tick
my ashtray accumulates unused ink
so much happens when I look off
if I untie my tie and unbutton my pants
will she scuttle to the window
and become a compass to dawn
I hope I will not turn away
crack my knuckles smell my heart
and fidget my fuse box this time
as I reach to lower the shades
the shaken man extends his hand
starfish slide down the glass
I anticipate static discharge
on the door, and I shoved
a towel underneath it.
They tapped again.
I turned off the lights
and hid behind the couch.
One puts its leg in the keyhole
and twist the lock open.
There's a tragic moment
when a mother's at work,
and strangers enter her home
without her having a say.
I'm caught with my diapers down,
without any legal counsel
or my one allowed phone call.
They swaddle me in webbery
and say, "It's better for you to live
in an enlightened eight-legged world,
and when you mother comes home,
she'll be happy to have it to herself
as we'll have eaten all the roaches."
Electrical Failure
Again the lights go out
starfish suckle the window
the shaky skinned man
dressed in white suit tie and hat
flicks cigarette ashes at them
he tucks his nose into a breast pocket
his partner smelling of tarragon
touches my hand and imagines gloves
and our closet filled with shoes
battery-operated clocks tick and tick
my ashtray accumulates unused ink
so much happens when I look off
if I untie my tie and unbutton my pants
will she scuttle to the window
and become a compass to dawn
I hope I will not turn away
crack my knuckles smell my heart
and fidget my fuse box this time
as I reach to lower the shades
the shaken man extends his hand
starfish slide down the glass
I anticipate static discharge
Tom Holmes currently lives in Mississippi. He is the founding editor of Redactions: Poetry & Poetics, and the author of three full-length collections of poetry, most recently The Cave (The Bitter Oleander Press, 2014), which won The Bitter Oleander Press Library of Poetry Book Award for 2013, as well as four chapbooks.
