The First Beautiful Girl I Ever Saw
Gerry Mark Norton
Look up at the stars; look up at the unvisible stars. Robotic sun and cancer vapour. Lesions aground; levitating leviathan marbles abound. But in a shroud of boiled tumescence. Wafting, precum. Tail; prawn = my mother’s name for my infant cock. Ah! I see a star…no, it’s a plane. Sky-ferrying pale morons somewhere they can get swarthy (that’s livin’).
Saw that girl when I was fourteen, radiant on the lawn of some tilting tower. Symmetrical replicant face, pale Latina complexion. Comely ‘til comely. Sextet minus the organ solo. Absorption; the sun became a bitch, a matchhead, a snowman. Combusting eyes of eternal return…then we walked off.
Drew an atheist cross when she sat in the same restaurant. Had to squeeze past when we left, didn’t realise it was her chair I grabbed till I looked in from out. She gazed out at us, then spoke to her mother in Argentinean Spanish (I’ve always assumed): Look at those orange-haired people! Doesn’t it shine beautifully in the sunlight? We weren’t a freak show like at the fountain in Genoa. Maybe though, but politely.
Is she now worshipped? Is her form the (bemusing?) muse for quatorzains and empyrean tears? Do they smack her up, does she not know any different, does she spend days with her riparian sorrow, disenchanted, hopeless, lost, so so sad? Why am I typing as a solitary man when such words spill out? Is that not beautiful too? Should someone – does someone want to? surely not – worship me? Don’t I deserve to be rescued like anyone else? Moles make hills of mountains, I a proper geyser.
Gerry Mark Norton was born in London, England in 1989. He has self-released one book of poems, Sick Roses, and two albums of music, A Momentary Lapse in Lethargy and Feasting, Dancing & Revelry. He has been published in Quail Bell, Misfits’ Miscellany, Eskimo Pie, Red Ochre Literature, The Rusty Nail, Danse Macabre, and Circa Review, and has work forthcoming in Eunoia, The Vehicle, and The Toucan.