of you :: wendy videlock

You’ve been the wolf, you’ve been the bear,
you were the grass when I was air,
the hush of the lake, eyes and lips,
a shyness at my fingertips,

a motion that knew when to slow,
the forest where I always go;

and now you are the windowsill
I rest my elbows on until
the night grows dark and I can’t see
these silhouettes of you and me.

disarmed :: wendy videlock

I should be diligent and firm,
I know I should, and frowning, too;
again you’ve failed to clean your room.
Not only that, the evidence
of midnight theft is in your bed—
cracked peanut shells and m&m’s
are crumbled where you rest your head,
and just above, the windowsill
is crowded with a green giraffe
(who’s peering through your telescope),
some dominoes, and half a glass
of orange juice. You hungry child,

how could I be uncharmed by this,
your secret world, your happy mess?

! :: wendy videlock

Dear Writers, I’m compiling the first in what I hope is a series of publications I’m calling artists among artists. The theme for issue 1 is “Faggot Dinosaur.” I hope to hear from you! Thank you and best wishes.
—Ali, editor, Artists among Artists

I think that I shall never fear
a brontosaurus that is queer,

iguanodon as fetisheer,
a mammoth bringing up the rear,
an astrodon with extra gear,

metrosexual squirrel and deer,
a breeder with a dance career,
a fruit with cauliflower ear,

a lesbianic Chanticleer,
a grinning limpish-wristed Lear,
the weird one or the mutineer,

but those who perfectly adhere,
stay clear, stay clear, stay clear, stay clear.

hullo :: wendy videlock

The word, the stone,
the ringing phone,
the part of me
that wants to be alone,

the vow of silence
in the reeds;
God descends
in ravenese.

The vinegar tasters
dip their fingers,
make their faces:
stoic, bitter,

strangely sweet.
The seeker leaves
for Bangladesh,
the prophets check

for signs of theft,
the singers sing
for what is left.
The children breathe.

Come of age.
Search the faces
for a taste of
what’s to come:

the widening road,
the row your boat,
he choked with weeds,
the rabbit hole.

This holding on.

The word, the stone,
the ringing phone.
The part of we
that answers when alone.