Chris McCreary
Haunt Tectonics
I.
Trash as vaudeville. Thrash
as overkill. You expected
ectoplasm, grew less
corporeal lest movement arrest
as in movies why geists might slam
cabinets smash plates yet
display propriety always shying
from property lines
not wanting to wander
too far.
II.
Drop a pin in every place
they’ve at great peril made haste
if not merry & add an asterisk
for any occasion informed
against conjuring’s stall &
stutter. Language as slab, as slag
& magma bubbling up. Call footnotes
tombstones & rezone those tablets
until even commandments
are made of soap.
III.
Language as colloidal masque
against toxin or pratfall. See me peek
between the boo & the who
goes where there’s dumbshow shadow
skull. It's a long lull between planchette
& banishment, so no wonder
you’re mortified by this grim repetition
of groping down corridors
forever aghast &
purgatorial.
IV.
Seance as feedback
& annotation, voice notes recorded
during corpse pose croaking
flat & graven. Days erased by magnets
maybe or playlists scavenged, old cassettes
overdubbed & left in someone’s glove
compartment. Another concussive
trustfall. An amnesiac’s last
word, a rainbow monochromed
& at a stone’s throw.
V.
The last nerve
verbs when it learns
you've been stiffed. Shuffle
& skip. Language’s
thinnest tissue as anodyne
against whatever might
ribbon the wrist. Slap the hand
for picking at scabs,
my tightened blindfold the better
to encrypt you with.
Chris McCreary is the author of several books and chapbooks including the chapbook Maris McLamoureary’s Dictionnaire Infernal (Empty Set Press), co-authored with Mark Lamoureux. His new book of poems, awry, is forthcoming later in 2024 from White Stag. He lives in South Philadelphia and on IG at @chris___mccreary.