Volume 2 2007
Ode to New Winters in Pennsylvania
I am home to a new climate,
tropical December atop these coal-breasted mountains
still Himalayas to my America,
momentary snow and brown sugar sun
make-over seasons,
turn wildflowers more tenacious,
bring green electricity to their once upon a time
ache for slumber. For the holidays, I have molded a
white chocolate Buddha embossed with,
“The only thing we can count on is change,” which [...]
If I Told You
If I told you,
now that is finally springtime,
and global warming has made the days
longer, brighter,
prematurely sultry,
conjuring fine weather for
starships of a new steroid summer,
bulging pink dirges at the hem of the North Pole,
Santa Claus in skivvies and perpetual sauna,
bowling for watermelons flourishing
dropped from the wandering stars
like manna
ravenous polar bears
gone begrudgingly vegetarian,
throwing the harvest against whatever [...]
Folded Woman
On Alison Watt’s ‘Sabine’…
Still Life
On Mark Rothko’s ‘Orange and Yellow’…
Blurring Betty
On Gerhard Richter’s ‘Betty’…
Women’s Wool
On Shirin Neshat’s Women Without Men (woman knitting)…
Freya
Goddess from the north,
Freya.
An angelic beauty,
and the finest
maiden on
earth.
Your eyes
are like jade,
and your hair is like
shining charcoal.
A single glimpse
from you,
would topple city walls.
And a second glimpse,
would leave kingdoms decrepit.
There is not
a city or kingdom
that would not succumb
to your beauty.
Hidden
I found the unfinished poem,
of my recently departed friend
hidden under a rock.
The rock,
was the cornerstone
of the pensione,
near the cemetery,
over the bridge.
The item needed only
a modest flurry
of verbal panache
to take flight.
My presumption to finish
his words went as so
… now this burns, as the lungs of a million exhale and I inhale nothing.
Seeking Silence
Seeking silence, I sew myself
into the belly of a dead horse
and commit faith to
idleness and vanity.
Twisting free from the
umbilical of the sophists,
I express honour through
the desires of Vesta.
Pardon is mine to give
yet how will I be judged?
- by thought a garrote to be
placed around my neck and
tugged at by millions of
suffragettes exposing
my dedication to Fessonia.
Trust With a Razor, Part 2
“Not for me, Pops. I don’t go for that foo-foo juice.” The stranger laughed and sat up in the chair, looking at his chin in the mirror. “You know, it seems to me that business could be better for you. A fella like you could always you a few more customers, you know. A few more loyal customers.” He emphasized the word ‘loyal’.
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