Saturday, May 23, 2009
MR. BRINK
Here, arguing with a
few pilgrims along the way,
I offered them thick words
that have never been spoken
yet may be our own worst enemy.
For reception, I received just
a rattling in the throats that
followed us out of the train station,
a mob on a bender who have foresworn
any further looks in the mirror.
I am alone among the tented
true believers, I am warmed
by the slow fuse of their blood.
I am besides myself, and willing
to put the rest in hock,
I’ve gone as far as I can.
Monday, May 18, 2009
BACK IN BROOKLYN…
The latticed chain-link casts its’ shadow
and the gods skip a shallow grave.
Zeus ran a moving business on 4th ave,
but never could get laid.
The swan died at the doorstep,
the traffic box clicks Stop & Go,
the street light’s a heart flutter filament,
and I’m nothing, a propped-up ghost
standing between two lands…
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
FOREIGN LANDS
The grit of the boot print
is seen in an unflattering
ultraviolet close-up, slightly
out of focus, a single cusp
zoomed-in on the satellite map.
Who but the prince
could lift the sword?
These stories are already suspect,
like thumb prints around
a throat that’s telling.
Who is the one who can name
names, who sent the princess
past the toll gate? Who can find
the edges of the earth and mark
it finished in the dark?
I guess the answer is,
who ever gets there first…
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
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