Arthur Mudd is an Orlando-based poet whose work explores perception and the mind’s instinct to make symbols. He has poems in Verses from the Underground and The Goose Egg.
gray interval—elsewhere
i cared for it— the gap—even as it left for the factory the sun—a punch-clock forced into its hand— i wait moonward the gray ghost—again whose limbs crack walnuts while the worker labors elsewhere barking sickness at the pristine ghost— disengaged—without remainder my impatience ferments—stench-lit looks only where i am struck by the locus in front of me a foot— an inch— depending on the pretense— i cannot cross
pop your hood
is this plausible? tell me if this tracks— (heavy blocks moving inside) how does meaning build momentum? through residue? (we’ll get to know you as you watch) i’m gonna try my luck on the outside— (orange water / orange sky) the grass is light brown— withholding assent
for a song
working with unbearable nostalgia—turning it off aggressively when its haunting melody cuts & throws upon you the image of the world as a little town it doesn’t bring you down but lifts you too high up on a pole through dark clouds where you see a lonely man on the roof of a church using you to measure the worth of each hymn
balustrades
winter wind & stars appear like balustrades when i look & start to wonder i see a dozen trios in the formation of snowmen— some have eaten many carrots others have been more careful with repetition— but this won’t keep the wind from eating away at them— their flesh & blood skirting down all stairways in unison
psychogenic fugue
i am drifting away down the metal rainbow that cuts through a scape of dirt & windows where a spiral appears through a dark stroke—showing things that can’t be shared but must try regardless— beneath the rosebush—ants crawl through worlds that keep confusion intact until a blank lapse beckons a yielded ghost—open handed & eager for its first time doing anything—yet is prepared to be lied to