|Posted on September 20, 2011 at 2:55 AM||comments (0)|
She sat on the grass
beneath the summer sun
looking at you
as if for the first time
and as she looked at you
you looked beyond her
at the distant sky
and how the clouds
resembled a woman’s bust
and how humorous it was
when an airplane
went right through
on its way to some far off land
and as she took your hand... Read Full Post »
|Posted on July 15, 2011 at 5:19 AM||comments (0)|
You are what you wear, Sutcliffe said,
You wear what you are. O’Brien laughed.
In that case, Eddie, you’re well alive,
Because you wouldn’t be seen dead
In those clothes. Sutcliffe brushed off
The jacket, disturbing the dandruff,
Loose blonde hairs took flight about him.
They’re hand me downs, Sutcliffe moaned,
Not what I’d have chosen by a long chalk.
When money’...Read Full Post »
|Posted on June 18, 2011 at 12:09 PM||comments (0)|
Xavier looks down from the bridge.
John Berryman jumped from here,
He muses, noting the water, hearing
The sounds behind and below. Xavier
Looks up at the sky, sees birds, clouds.
Many reasons why some person might
Want to jump and die. Also many reasons
Not to. Xavier breathes in the air, it hits
His lungs, fresh, cool. Berryman and Henry
Were they the same? What’s in a name?
Xavier remembers reading Berryman’s...Read Full Post »
|Posted on June 14, 2011 at 8:36 AM||comments (0)|
Tomsin laughs to himself. Not concerning
Others or with others, but alone, a private
Joke, not shared. He looks about him, none
Seems to have heard him laugh or if they did,
Cared. He puts out his legs beneath the table,
Lights up a cigarette. The small cafe seems busy,
Voices talk, bits of conversation hang on the air
Incomplete, foreign. He sips his drink. A girl in
A group nearby looks at him and smiles. He feels
His age, aches...Read Full Post »
|Posted on June 1, 2011 at 2:37 PM||comments (0)|
Nodmeyer remembers clearly fishing
With his father on the lake. The small
Boat, the blue box of flies and hooks.
The still water, the calm sky. Just him,
His father, the rods, and the occasional
Fish hooked and bucketed. Nodmeyer
Has no son now to fish with; he sits all
Alone in his boat, him, the sky, his rod,
And his box of hooks and flies. His son
Drowned in the lake some years back.
Suicide, some say or insinuate in hus...Read Full Post »
|Posted on May 25, 2011 at 5:44 AM||comments (0)|
Kentril has a job to do, has a man
To kill. He sits and selects a cigarette.
Takes his time. The French cigarette
He thinks best at this time. This his
Favourite. He lights, draws in the smoke.
The photograph of the victim he holds
Between yellowed finger and thumb.
The person’s laughing, some party scene.
Kentril rubs his thumb over the celluloid
Face, can’t wipe off the grin, or the bright
Eyes, dim. Nothi...Read Full Post »
|Posted on May 14, 2011 at 1:27 PM||comments (0)|
Henry will watch girls pass
Most of the day, especially
The young ones, the blonde
Ones, the tall ones, the ones
With fine figures, the ones
Who look at him disdainfully,
The ones who smile out of pity.
He thinks he remembers their
Mothers, the same look, the
Same way of walking, the same
Disdainful gaze, the smiles of
Pity. He recalls their fathers,
Good looking guys, ta...Read Full Post »
|Posted on May 7, 2011 at 3:10 AM||comments (0)|
He hates it the week you’re on the rag
As he terms it, the big drag,
Depressing deprivation, but you hate it
For deeper reasons that he can feel,
Another month where your seed’s
Unblessed with life or babe.
You aren’t ready yet, he claims,
Running a finger down your spine,
Hoping to turn you on,
Wanting to romp out of season,
Best wait until the promotion
And the money’s ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on April 29, 2011 at 5:28 AM||comments (0)|
She lives with her ghosts.
Miró sits on her
Walls and walks her rooms.
She has Welsh Dylan
Thomas in her book
Case and sitting in
Her favourite old
Armchair drinking beer
From the Frigidaire.
Her father sits smoking
A cigarette, lung
Cancer no longer
A fear, there is no
Second death. Close the
Window, he says, there’s
Read Full Post »
|Posted on March 27, 2011 at 3:23 AM||comments (2)|
And Isis kisses
The breasts of Jodie
Each kiss like planting
A small blossom on
A still small pond and
Jodie strokes her hair
And runs her finger
Down Isis’s back
And outside two cats
Fight and a railway
Train sounds and the bed
Rocks as their hot love
Making takes off and
The shadows on the
Walls see...Read Full Post »