Bell Of The Ball / by Laurence Fuller

Poem by Laurence Fuller

“Keeping In Time” by Michael Carson

“Keeping In Time” by Michael Carson

Bell of the ball, tapping fizzy champagne, glistening like golden artifice bulb bowls of sushi candy meat, luxury blessed our mouths. Yours, mine and ours, we know this day would come, matter most to us it’s now done, time to run through fields of our mind. Blinded by the shine reflected off cocktail glasses we left behind their turn to prove how much they care for us, but of course and we for them. Those owners happy management towards us, ringing drops dripping down our chins, well earned here we are today again we are on ice, the rocks rocked whiskey cups, is this real we were pulled together in this strange place. Firemen blessed my chest with heavy arms push me back and watch me dance, my fists to my chin where you been boy, touch me with mad love, your fists to mine, bing bang we’ll hurry this mad bad man down that ladder where he came, bells ring out swirling where you came, bring it I love this merry mischief, I’ll move my shoulders back and forth of course, of course, it’s all there, played spinning, one misstep those curtains fall that wizard beneath hearty laughter a tower of Marie Antoinette cups tumble shatter shards all reflecting ourselves pick them up and now that cuts, lick up that nicked our flesh and blood drips our lives like lucky friendship my lover, happy now, chuckles muck the ruffles of our sleeves, let’s leave it all to this, how’s danger sound? Like the tapping of a typewriter? Like the chorus in the background? Like the sound of the crowd? Like the bell of the ball? Tap for that poem out loud tap it like a corrective bubble forming round a paper shadow, turn it over, and over, and over. Notes to show the spiked shoes I hung up on my door, rebels of this unconscious war, rebel, rebel, rebel to all that distinction built up facade, fascinating repetitive, unpredictable suits of silk, flashy cards frame the wall, one by one, state into them and remember me, my reflection in you, down liquor like a good thing in my mind, tricks too taught like wire, we gather round the bonfire. Let all spill out now you know, now you know. 

Stills from the feature film “Phantom Thread”

Where is she in that crowd? Where does she run? What does it all mean when I watch that star light up the sky buzzing in the night, I can’t catch it and put it in my pocket can’t flit and flicker, hold on man, make dresses while you can, that’s all you can do, that’s what you were built for, I’ve cut silk shadows on the floor. Don’t get anxious and drop the balloons again.

She came in, to all that structure caused rupture to all the trodden footsteps left before, stomping on each one with dancing shoes tapping on my chest. I’ve slipped and lost my place, all those Gentry waiting for my grace and yet I’ve simply crumbled structures I built up, held cups slipped through my fingers, sudden stops in that mushroom soup. She would not come quietly with a purr but with the flamboyance of a roar. Took your medicine while you swam through all the memories, shook out those demons trapped and locked up down there, forgive them for rattling cages, they clutch the bars calling out and out it all seems different now. Strange romantics rumbling in you to stroke the cat once more. Not what you thought but what it is. Cat and bird or lion and eagle, both regal, maybe both at once, maybe spun like cotton and sowed to as a crest. Cut silk, pin the hem, wrap it all in fresh garments from places you’ve never been before, brush the dust up from the years gone by, your study making waves in the air with fabrics of new design.