Todd COLBY

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My Proxy


My proxy is on overload
but my hands are strong and my
friends all say that I have a strong back
and good mind. I have occasional power surges
and the random "I can't do this, I'm too freaked out"
moments. But they are growing ever rarer
now that the weather is warmer
and the leaves are actually making shade
where I once sought the insane comfort of wind.
If living in Brooklyn will suffice as my proxy
then I am alive and comfortable
as my proxy will allow.






Minus the Exploding Egg That Burned
My Lip for a Week


I'd have you if you'd let me walk on the sandy
egg field of your soft lap. I mean I like you
when you're mean to me in the still grass
by the little cottage we named "The Little Cottage."
I must look lost if you're asking me if
I'm lost. A dazed feeling overwhelms me.
"Don't shun the world, shed it." Alone, a lot
a bicycle makes a good companion over
a bridge or in a state of panic: I think of you
in the green room where we gather
to remember what we left behind. Remember:
what lies ahead is exciting and fucked.






Grip It Hold It Hang On (for MW)


The dried limes are radical
to the gear shifters
spinning up hills in bright lycra
a feast of corporate colors
imbibing freedom with an axle
stained orange from pine dust.
All the kids are just getting big now
and slovenly gloaming the crest
for more pieces of you.







Oh Peaches


Oh steam funk full of peaches
your bungee cord
is the poltergeist to my Ahab
and the thrust is good, at least
to the silver crayon you chewed
until it turned bronze
and smoky between your teeth.
Oh light salad rails
tethered to a blimp on a stick: fuck it,
and the crocodile's 6th sense
of me. In the forest of my thoughts
another net is forming a cat
in the clouds, speak to me, so to speak,
I have the list, you can have it
for a punch.







Mean Juice (You've Been Warned)


Somebody slipped in a puddle
of mean juice and drank what
gathered around his face like
a little greasy pig-man.
You should stop your threats
of violence and ecstacy
before I get ridiculous and bone you.
Let me in on your secret name
for guilt, I think it rhymes with
"the greasy pig is yummy," no?
You know I'll get you,
and I'll get you real good.






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