Douglas Collura – Her Third Date After a Twenty-Five Year Marriage

Her Third Date After a Twenty-Five Year Marriage

 

 

She says, “Look. The rain’s harder now.”

I say, “Yes, but the theater’s close.”

She thumbs a path across

her melting glass.

 

Her daughter in third-year law.

Her granddaughter a swan.

When did I say I believed

in anyone’s tomorrow?

 

Her cupped hands; lines

connect, curve, cross,

predict nothing. She stares

into the passing moment.

 

“I never thought I’d be this person,”

she says, “never this alone.

I’m afraid sometimes, though

it’s nice not to be second guessed.”

 

My bedroom a chaos of shadows.

She’s unsure what comes next.

Then her legs clamp my hips,

and her mouth finds my neck.

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Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal – ON A SATURDAY NIGHT

On a Saturday Night
I set out
on a Saturday night
in late April
and the moon was shining.
I had no
one at my side and I
did not feel at
all lonely. The bright moon
lead the way.
I did not like going
to sleep. It was
near midnight, and Sunday
was about
to begin. I set out
in late April
to find something different.
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Margaret Wagner – A GIRL ON HER BOARD

A GIRL ON HER BOARD

She rolled on the sidewalk at dusk,

the wheels of her skateboard whirring.

She bent without effort,

feet tucked under knees

in a pose I’d never seen.

Gray leggings popped out of pink high-tops. Maroon lips,

aubergine nail polish, metal hoops dangled from her ears.

Her chin rested on her long arm. One bare shoulder

slipped out of her oversized black cardigan. She flew

past cherry blossoms, absorbing cracks in equal measure.

Gliding in her own momentum,

never intending to forget her flow,

she followed her beat wherever it led her.

Was this the starting gate of her velocity

or the peak of it?

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Glenn Ingersoll – I WANT

I Want

found in the database of the UC Berkeley library

I want a black doll

I want a dog

I want a little girl

I want! I want!

I want it now

I want mama

I want me a home

I want to be a lady

I want to be a mathematician

I want to be African

I want to be an astronaut

I want to be happy

I want to be like Stalin

I want to go on the stage

I want to live!

I want to say listen

I want to speak

I want you to marry me

I wanted to be an actress

I wanted to see

I wanted to tell you

I wanted to write a poem

I wanted wings

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MARC CARVER – CURTAIN TWITCHERS

CURTAIN TWITCHERS
As I run the day to begin it
the sun comes up and I want to get out before anybody sees me and sees I have used up my quota for the day.
I think I can go out the front way once and out the back way the other time and no one will see me. Maybe I can sneak out two or three times in a day before all the curtain twitchers see me.
It is only a matter of time before the have a hot line.
I saw him going out again twice yesterday and three times on Monday.
People

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Sal Marici – As We Wait for His Transport to Cremation

As We Wait for His Transport to Cremation

                      

George’s body lies in bed

mouth ajar. His skin

each minute turns

in a shade of white

paler than before.

 

In front of his grandpa’s corpse

grandson flips through tropical shirts.

The few items George’s daughter

did not pack for me

to take to Goodwill.

 

Grandson picks one. He pulls

his t-shirt over his head.

Slips his arms through sleeves.

When buttons fasten holes

birds, flowers align.

 

A friend of George

who has the same name

who influenced George’s poetry

wears a tropical shirt he selected

from the stack.

 

George would smile

if he could see them

wear him.

But he said no afterlife exists.

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John Dorroh – “It’s Probably More Than Colitis”

It’s Probably More Than Colitis”

I like a woman with a clean colon,

the way she starts telling stories

at the end

and works back toward the beginning,

expecting me to connect all the dots.

She takes her temperature every hour,

tells me the results, wants for me

to tie a knot with my swollen tongue

in her cherry

stem. The french kiss should have been

the second best clue

that we wouldn’t click, at least not like that.

I can cuddle like a fish with the best of them,

but sometimes we have to be satisfied

with a flag at half mast. You can always

use tulips to brighten the

room. We fidget in the clinic for an hour

before they call her name.

She refuses my hand, gives me an orange-lipped

piranha smile, and disappears into the

blue-white light.

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TIM STALEY – 2 GUZZLES 

2 GUZZLES ~ pronounced two ghazals

 

4.29.20

 

All this time I’ve been talking to myself:

meet me in the weightlessness between breath

 

The moon pouts and is unsure how to age

Which of our masks protects us from our thoughts? 

 

Eyeballs slither like the sliding glass door

heavy like shadows against the curtain

 

A fleck of gratefulness comes at what cost?

which one happens to correlate to you?

 

All my actions grease the slipping of time

as manufactured love crumples the foil

~

 

5.4.20

 

So a part of your blood I’ve already

fast forwarded your best intentions

 

Your family matters because they complain

but inches below the water they glow

 

The spilled milk is 14 billion years old

the space time continuum continues 

 

Like the Milky Way, be deliberate 

acknowledge the itch, but do it slowly

 

Yo! how much have you paid per square moment?!

My stomach is my own Magnum, P.I.

 

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OUTSIDE MY HOUSE ~ BY 100 SENIORS IN SOUTHERN NEW MEXICO (class of 2020)

OUTSIDE – a found poem 

 

I have an issue going outside.

I just see myself getting tired.

A bright beautiful glaze of sunlight hitting my porch.

I step outside into my backyard. 

That’s as close to a public place as I can get. 

Nothing much to see. Dry, peed-on dirt. 

If I climbed out onto my roof, I’d experience a lot of different things.

Sunlight, for one. Very tall but dead palm trees. 

A desert meant to goof around in. 

Dirt needing to be played with.

Small families of quail, 

groups of 6, running through the desert. 

Meows of newborn cats crying for attention.

Middle age men doing yoga in the dog grass with weights.

Weight has no purpose—

Then the trampoline of broken dreams.

A Police officer conducting an investigation.

Black pavement. 

Goats inside a chain link fence.

Three dark shadows on the grey tile.

Drive by shooting victim.

House being robbed.

Man on oxygen. 

Red roadrunner on a moving trailer. 

The snails are cute

Salt salt salt.

More importantly, I’d see a curve.

A point, where the sky and dirt meet, 

and neither wins.

The sun sits in the center of the sky just staring. 

The sun is quite rude in my opinion. 

My intention is to look up at the shining sun 

and be blinded for a second 

or become one with it.

I finally saw who I got my attitude from

Hint hint it’s my dad…And as I come back around 

I see A pig hanging by the neck from a tree,

Dad’s big red truck parked further back in the yard. 

So many sculptures. 

I see myself in the door window again, 

I see the yard behind me, 

and I remember the days before with my friends.

I see the spider expanding her spiderweb 

between the legs of the grill. 

Wind swirls around me,

A Tiny dog hides in the bushes

under the giant pecan tree, 

roots creeping from the ground 

like the kraken attacks an enormous wooden ship 

and drags it under The grass that’s been freshly lawned. 

No cop / No stop

Tia wants to plant some grass knowing it won’t last. 

1 by 1 people become the ground.

Nature is happy at the absence of man. 

Animals walk the paths joggers used to run. 

Nature deserves this win. My intention is to adventure like the animals do 

when they leave the cage

listening to country music or their favorite corridos. 

My intention is feed the animals so they don’t try to kill me.

As the sun sets i can taste the clouds 

browner than crap 

throwing punches at me…… hitting me directly.

It’s terrifying and peaceful to walk around at night 

and the loudest thing is your own heart beating 

and the thoughts in your head

like a tornado blew through. 

Who taught you

to unlove yourself

so sweetly.

Am I happy or sad, no, I feel free a little longer, 

but it’s gross, the hovering moth. 

Blue breeze comes from under the pink dragon 

on the back of my kimono. 

I see stars, wait, is that a fire in the distance?

 

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