RECENT WORK selected by Larry Fagin

Clayton Albachten

Kostas Anagnopoulos
Casey Drouin
Richard Chammings

Robert Elstein

Omar Husain

Jennifer Kietzman

Florence Kindel

Paul Maziar

Ryan Nowlin

Annalisa Pesek

Michael Roberts

Emma Rossi

Aaron Simon

Ann Stephenson

Carol Szamatowicz

A Part-Time Philosophy

Bad breath is a small part of civilization

Imagine a room

You’ve already lost interest
Time doodles

You could have put some big thoughts in there

Step outside, I’ll lock you out

Light braided with water

The edges of a tinfoil curtain

Crinkle in dead air
Pushed by a lazy fan
Passing over flyspecks
There isn’t even a surface
You’ve stopped thinking about bugs
The kind that crawl
And the kind that listen

- Ryan Nowlin

Ad Hoc Poem

Here’s an overview of their movement

if that’s possible

notice the eglantine endpapers

not the wallflowers

Don’t get on the train

let someone else take the trip

one who can afford it

she’s a queer one

Leaving little to worry about

happy as her inner idea

but it was the station

not the train that moved

- Ann Stephenson

Adagio

I want balls

To look elegant

For a space walk

When I return to Earth

Confetti

To fill the canyons

We need certainty

Bach comes slowly up the stairs

I wish I had his faith

Now that the streets are empty

I run from certainty

Bach come with me

I might get mugged

We’re buying Joy, Pounce and Brasso

Then we’ll hit up Ralph

For whiskey but first

A bit of Jauchzeit in the parlor

- Florence Kindel

Aeolian Harp

At night a bruise of a place

the sea declines certain objects

someone else’s stripped hermeneutics

There must be some spectacular

medium to make a silk purse

out of life, make you real and render

The particulars to truth, and you are

strangely free from the burden

of intelligibility

- Ryan Nowlin

After Rene Char

In the streets of the village

In the wake of the wounded city

In the copulation of the Cimex lectularius

In the morning and the evening of the season of the plague

In the holes in the skin so that nothing is lost to us

In the quake of the hand that will not break

In the quivering of endless abandon

In the rooms where the lights go on and off

In the mesh and the net

In the leaf and the wood

In the tree and the worm

In the flower and the god

There is my love

- Ryan Nowlin

Applauding the Bubbles

A silent movie about everything (except you)

plus wind (endless) leaves (atremble) laughter (machines)

and anyone who was here an hour ago

let them experience the same thing

give or take a few stray hairs

I work slow but not as slow as you think

champagne was reinvented just like that

beyond the chatter it’s raining on my blue dress

with orange trim then what happened

amazed rabbits

- Michael Roberts

Beginning to End

What will tell this tale?

The bloody voice

The one that lines the intestines 

But sticks to the face

Bringing me to tears

If it's a war you want

I'll tell my story from start to finish

I’m dead but what's more interesting

Are things I never said

No one remembers my numbers

Even I don’t

None of my vitals

I was indisposed

Sniffing around for a spectacle

And hating myself

For kissing people

For sucking Jesus’ cock

Licking Satan’s ass

And so forth & so on

And I’m a narcoleptic to boot

I can’t even move!

Yes the newspapers are full

Of what I never said or did

Of who I didn’t kiss

You had your booth

I had my window

But I couldn’t see through it

At night I was made of kisses

By day I was full of expectation

For reading I stuck to science magazines

Things I could understand

Hotel rooms were everywhere

I paced back and forth in most of them

But like I told you I died

So you can’t make me answer another question

Or sign another check

You can’t torture me

Or make me laugh

And die again

Once was enough

So I just wanted to thank you

And all the good people at Mark Enterprises, Inc

- Michael Roberts

Bombs

Bombs for complacency

bombs for protecting money in its cave

bombs for the end of trade

bombs for lost children

bombs for the Thatcherites

bombs for cost-reckoning

bombs for other worlds in the balance

bombs for both sides of the conundrum

bombs that click in a certain percentile

bombs to the very end

bombs for light

Dullness of bombs over love

insanity across classes

in defense of evening clothes

you knew this before you were an egg

Bombs away

- Carol Szamatowicz

Cold Snap

No visits from the ghosts of poetry

Past present or future

No iridescent lines

Flying over in formation

Shock of morning wind

What’s left of winter grass?

Christ the whole hemisphere is crumbling

In an ice catapult

I take the train in my poem

Freezing on the platform

Mirrors are endless

I stare in unison

My face isn’t interested

- Omar Husain

Cool It / Whoever Can

Take me out to the ballgame

Anything to calm my nerves

Talks have failed

For my final act of kindness

I’ll humanize my gravitas

I may sound despotic or desperate

But that’s not my voice at all

It’s been prerecorded

To imply precedence

The one true god

I can’t tie up the line for long

My true feelings have been sent

Under separate cover

On the condition of anonymity

The one true god

- Aaron Simon

Copy Edited

Note on legal pad, “I’m traveling toward you,” was sent.

Amtrak has extended its summer sale until the end of the year. One-way coach fares include New York to Philadelphia, $34. Reservations must be made 14 days in advance (not valid on holidays).

Layover (with pocketknife inscription): He hunkers down out of the wind behind a wall of merry-go-round music, horses from a church bazaar, heads bobbing, nostrils flared.

The narrow space permitted by a door chain was just enough to frame her contorted face before he coaxed her back into the hallway. A strange man stood on their living room sofa.

She sorted packages on the floor of a box truck whose air conditioner had quit, using space for peculiar motifs filed in appropriate sections, door latch stuck, handle-with-care boxes stacked three high, constricted movement, stacks of padded envelopes, ads, facsimiles, found text, journal entries, no air pockets, guaranteed next day delivery expired.

Cinnamon collects under his cup. Ethyl acetate used in decaffeination also cleans circuit boards, helps perfume dry faster. He stirs nutmeg into foamy head, avoids park benches. Stir: segregated from general population, auf Wiedersehen. Stir crazy, linked to cancer in lab rats. Kestrels and ospreys veering above before the approaching storm is propelled over ridges. Subsequent events rinsed phony.

After ache subsided, she smiled on the day’s labor. Perimeter lights swooned through thick glass at a cafeteria table where she sat reading Collodi. Two cups of chai, she’d have to pee soon. Originally, Pinocchio was hung for his faults, but an editor dissuaded Collodi.

Plexiglas is a trademark name, and is often misspelled Plexiglass.

- Richard Chammings

Debonair Confession

I.

The sky unfolds

I was the same person I thought I was

There is a sky shape to my folly

Don’t argue

Diatribes lead to botheration

Your voice contains a matching chill

A tall cool glass

Offered by local witch doctors

Archaic and friendly

On the roof of the auxiliary church building

Shielded by techniques

That turns facts into life

II.

But I’ve begun to see other things

8:15 p.m. robed I approach a wide divided boulevard

Observe people littering

One turns to see if there will be witnesses

Then casually lets slip the straw wrapper

And if there were someone walking behind him?

Another inhales crumbs of Nachos

Before letting go of the red and yellow bag

And the wind picks it up

III.

Depositing it gently in the dirt

In this case it’s okay to snoop

No less amazing to see one replicate it

She’s not humiliated not in the least

Sorrowful realization of darkness

But only because there are dark clouds

She was an amazing person

Great typing skills

She made her own letterhead

IV.

It was important to own money

Or go to college and get a good job

Slipping in the rain

Rubbing piecemeal integrity

Against your pillowed head

Enter your code

It’s earlier than in my dream

Snowcapped empty tumbler

No drop to alight

V.

Food freezes each night and day

I can’t believe she cares so much

The water bill comes but once a year

It’s not a matter of cost

- Robert Elstein

Emotional Morning (Worrywart)

Everything I say sounds unrealistic

I’m alive, see?

Culled from someone’s experience of past earth

My best days are gone

Through a series of sliding panels

The things the trees come up with

Autumn squirrel empty atom

There’s no way in

“Have a good one”

The whole time they’ve been taking sugar pills

A mix-up at the factory

Babies pop up in weird places—bellies!

I managed a decent thought

Despite an overwhelming lack of emotional support

Morning full of faces I wish I was

Born yesterday—not a day later

Ah what’s the difference

They blow in and chew up the scenery

Floating on their backs down the Lethe

Here I am yoo-hoo!

Another pasty face

Packing all its natural resources

Into its pipe

I suppose I should mention waking up on the beach

Ants all over me

I was like Gulliver

And suddenly I missed my girl Sally Thatcher

Oh that’s your girl

I hurl my filthy love into space

From my place in the sun

A seagull by my side we stare out to sea you get the picture

One of us coughs up a softball

And the ants and the beach flies advance upon it

The gull and I split

It’s all over the internet

- Michael Roberts

Fleas

The day after retiring, she drove down to St. Augustine, ate at every seafood restaurant in town and returned to Brooklyn. It killed a craving. On her bed she let out a sigh so long she appeared dead. Her dog worked for nothing. His back was a beat up rug. Once she was a good dancer. Her recall of steps was cosmic. She suffered from a syndrome no one else had. Late at night she watched a voodoo program, one with complex advice. Sunset threw orange columns on the wall. The dog positioned himself as close to her as possible.

- Emma Rossi

Flutterer

 “The excavation’s unnatural,” she observed. “He’s in a place where everyone goes but it isn’t what he expected and he doesn’t want to stay there.”

   “He was a son-of-a-bitch,” I offered.

   “The way we deserved him,” she shrugged.

   I supposed so.

   His hands usually fluttered. I used to follow him around the yard to no purpose. His obituary composed by yours truly required certain damage control. I’d haul mom’s packages into the house when she got home. Irritated by how much money she spent, he often reacted by tearing up a flowerbed. The next day he’d inspect the mess, lose his temper and she’d go out shopping again.

   “He could parallel park better than anyone,” she said.

   Quel consolation.

   The appropriate drizzle fell. His portion of earth was cubed from mud.

- Richard Chammings

Froggy Went A-Courtin’

Burned at the bake sale

A saint like Genet

It’s a small arms deal

After the rain

When the flowers come up like baby teeth

Mud flaking in the sun

Just a pinch

In the A&P

Some kind of local sublime

I’ve felt it before

Not confidence but backlight

Warm as a sobriquet

Idling in the smoke

The fireworks were better last year

On the inside looking out

More feverish than a fight

The housefly leaves for the office

- Aaron Simon

Half

I couldn’t stop cursing. He said put a lid on it. Will do. I’m used to waiting forever but I’ve never written anything true. Listen. Four-legged steps upstairs. Corners around every corner. The animals have memorized my face. They’re eating the new grass. I’m not positive about the noises inside me. Half a world I can’t handle. The old New Home sewing machine looks great next to the entryway.

- Emma Rossi

Headless

Less listening more talking

That night I went to Maine or talked about it anyway

The state berry is the blueberry

Notice the floor is tilted here the bed is sliding

All the way to Maine in my head

Sketch for Kafka is taped to the wall

We’re both naked

I turn around and around so he can get a good look

Then out the door

Oh Kafka stay hydrated!

These generations of words sour the mood

We’re all muddy and sticky it’s snowing oh Maine!

Where are your promised huckleberries?

We’re purple too

Our words are thrown they may bounce

So many of them why add more

Come back to bed Kafka

Read to me read to my head while I go on talking

- Annalisa Pesek

Helen Arms

Give a little whistle

And of course it unsettles me

I sprint to investigate but just as swiftly

Police helicopters get there

Take cover

I interpret shadow to be someone’s gloom

Not my own — mine’s candy-colored

Now there’s a situation on the sidewalk

Sunlight has somehow “printed” a gentleman’s spectacles

Steam exhaust kicked out from a few pistons I kept

In a breach of my building in Parkville

Where the garbage is taller than the residents

I have jogged past Helen Arms many times

Where they can see through to my bones

I float with ease by the gold entrance

Through which I observe

A wig passed between scalps

And hear a pleasing ring tone

Behind a false wall

- Robert Elstein

Home Schooling

Not everything you need to know is in the handbook

That’s where memory comes in

But it could be fantasy

Or reduced versions of events best forgotten

Especially in these golden days of chronic infantilism

Sometimes a new planet moves in next door

And you must revise your position on certain issues

Crack a window for christ’s sake

Go to the television

Cauliflower is in season

Eat plenty of it, steaming the heads

Have the dressing waiting

There’s more you know, dig in

Don’t let the sun catch you without your block

Work on your salutations

Memorize the flashes

Who has time for small talk?

Though we’re all small here

We’ve fallen behind the big kids

Staring blankly straight ahead

Or horsing around on the wing-back

Flocked in the usual federal yellow

If I’ve told you once. . .

But wait

I didn’t tell you

I wasn’t here

It’s all you

- Kostas Anagnopoulos

How Did It Happen?

The tree and its white blossoms

And the porters all around it

The Spanish language

The crisp air

Most of the time, time is lost

That’s not necessarily bad

The windowsill is a good place to cool

A hot cup drink it quickly

Pain in the lips vanishes

Even though what you’re saying isn’t notable

It’s good manners

But I’m not going on

And I’m not sure how I got here

- Kostas Anagnopoulos

I Know Them

Tincture of iodine for sore throat

producing an apprehensive twitch

like flywheels or risers

or gliders — do you know them?

what about stopcocks?

we must flee this world

with its skin and feathers

gas is responsible for most things

solids are jealous

liquids morose

the snake’s eyelids are transparent

who knows if it sees you?

- Florence Kindel

Interregnum

Anne said she was sitting across from John Waters on the F Train, that he was wearing a custom-made suit with “splurts” of plaid and that she’d immediately thought of me. She didn’t say why but I figured it must be my pencil mustache. Or maybe my love of plaid. Hmm. You really shouldn’t be reading this.

Outside the gallery Kate and I talked to The Me Nobody Knows (TMNK) and Leghead, whose real name, he confided, is Sidi. Leghead wanted a cigarette and was willing to dance for it, and a cute dance it was! TMNK demonstrated how to write on the sidewalk with paint pens. He schooled us on which surfaces (front doors and metal doors vs. exterior walls and sidewalks) resulted in lower fines if you get caught.

Our roommate Martin, who we rarely see, came home tipsy the other night, the winner of a trivia contest. Asked what the winning question was, he said: What is Charleston Chew made of? I guessed peanuts, caramel, maybe taffy. Wrong. Nougat, he said. Hard nougat, Jason put his two cents in. Martin glared at him. Meanwhile, pastry chefs the world over stretch and shape their nougatine, for which there is no law.

One day we will all come to the end of our choices like salad fixings. They will fizzle out just as others are launched, but that thought, which hints at a cycle of life, is of less concern to me, focused as I am on The End. Plus we’re not really a part of the cycle since we only get to experience a portion of it — once you get down to the popsicle stick. I know this interests you.

Why is being an accident (the baby was an accident) scandalous? Not really the end of the world. She’s an accident waiting to happen. Accidents will happen. We will have our accident and eat it too. Evolutionarily speaking, accidents are how we move forward. Frequently. This is called punctuated equilibrium.

My oatmeal is getting cold.

Part II

Like when a child in the grocery store has its mouth open wide as if it’s surprised to see you then you realize it’s sucking on the collar of its wool jacket and it’s not surprised to see you exceeding your capacity to understand it. Mission accomplished.

He asked from across the street if he could buy a cigarette. We both fell silent as he crossed over and asked us if he looked like he was up to something. We passed on that particularly since his genie hat and the white bundle of questionable content he cradled in his arms indicated he certainly was but we gave him a cigarette. We moved right along with everyone else out to see the moon, pre-reported as full and of “rare size and beauty” — a perigee Moon — the biggest in almost 20 years. The best time to look is when it’s sitting on the horizon, that is when illusion abuts reality (a sure recipe for trouble!) to produce a major view. Don’t bother trying to reach out and touch it. Even a perigee Moon is still 356,577 km away. So there.

Jason faked an illness at work and left early. He got KFC for dinner, and wine. Wine? I got tea and coffee. Yay, he said, we have everything now! Is that so?

- Jennifer Kietzman

La Chateau des Pyrenees

and worst of all. . .work dreams

unclocked hours

unmoneyed sleep

no rotation

space is (so far) the place

another mediocre dreamscape

full of the usual subjects

your majesty

more human than possible

but they still need work

and the pyramids must be erected

who will re-up?

know any coin tricks?

tear down the cineplex and suddenly darkness

who has time for it? after all 

my work is done

yet there' s no tub in this non-castle to soak

one's time-honored bones

tourism is up, my liege

lilacs bob in the breeze

who’da thunk he bought a cheeseburger

& coffee for $3.60?

oh I've tasted exotic meat in my day

the wind at night

and the city bunched together

in a ball of trees bricks glass tires gum wrappers

is life all windows

looking only out not in?

earth mostly water

distant moon a little white lie

I misspoke

it's a dumb block of wood

it doesn't do anything

I could promise you without promising anything

each hellhole is the same but different

the storm has no gender

the money sticks to the floor

language harmless as a poem

unspoken or fit in your pocket

- Michael Roberts

Maid of the Mist

If you stumble in the dark

pick yourself up

that makes two out of three

fewer primal fears

to cope with

but you want to be left alone

in the shower

put on your cap

Niagara Falls on your head

your parents honeymooned there

while you stayed in the car

listening to Debussy

who frowned on love

but fell for you

in the back seat

you didn’t know “yes” in French

so you mumbled in Italian

sono troppo giovane

your parents came back

who’s this?! your father shouted

it’s only Debussy, Pop

he was teaching me intervals

only intervals? how about a passage from Pelleas?

he hasn’t written that yet, Pop

where’s that lousy Maeterlinck when you need him?

Pop, you’re scaring him

let him get his feet wet first

Debussy come back to the city with us

no, Florence I must stay here

& make a sound out of mist

besides you’re a minor

so put it in minor

oh Florence, do you think mist is that easy?

- Florence Kindel

Mimesis

We’ll soon be among the dead but for the time

being we should figure out who we are or were

for we have fallen. I think a century on earth

is plenty. The past that has worked itself out

now is not. Then again there are records.

The first thing I did today was mail a package

to Ulm. The second thing was smile at someone

who I will never see again. The last thing I did was

watch a sparrow die on the sidewalk like a tired mind.

The traffic light swayed in the wind, an obscenity came

from an open window. Here’s a key for a door,

helicopter pirouetting onto the lawn. Once again

I tip the bottle back. Yummy. Tell me the story

of how we met. I never get tired of listening

like a train headed into late afternoon

all the sun and shadow you could ask for.

- Ryan Nowlin

Movement

The cockatoo at the meet and greet infuriated her. Right to bear arms. The mood lifted but didn’t dissipate. She was a well-known know-it-all. She knew that certain burpee seeds would never sprout. She know that January lasted for three months. Her youth had no direction and no hesitation. In light of recent events, she recalled people. Who are they now? Next door, the dirt receded around the fence posts, making the world seem discarded.

- Emma Rossi

My Anger

They seize the day

make them stop

I'd do it myself but I’m too angry

In my rousing speech 

I bit my tongue

& somebody’s going to pay

That car that duck over there

that president that man

with the thing in his head

Suddenly it’s clear: my anger

was written for TV

to suck the life out of people

So it wasn’t really my anger

just words on paper

& that pisses me off!

Don’t look at me

you’re people

you must be pissed off too

Facing west the whole world

becomes adjusted according to

one virtue

Which is my anger

get out of the way

it’s growing

- Michael Roberts

Nature Boy

Ambulances come and go

The lights don’t stop them

I’ll return to the sound later

The list of beautiful and not so beautiful days

Beauty of grasses

With or without the dew on your feet

Not just you – everyone

I’m compelled to operate on contact

Correct me if I’m rong

- Kostas Anagnopoulos

Neat Trick

I pin the tail

on Melencolia

my prize is no consolation

futility is in my best interest

when I touch bottom

in the bottomless pit

make it tragic please

& beautiful too

to avoid the next crisis

apply electrodes to teeth and genitals

- Florence Kindel

Night Flowers

I never get tired of hearing about who’s sleeping

with whom or who’s flirting

with a bird

Sea foam made an alphabet

I was well aware of my predicament

it began with a blackened door

ending with the bird its beak wide open

waiting for a squeak of rain

I haven’t spoken all day

Redbirds hide in the jasmine vines

their wings are shiny coins

- Florence Kindel

November

He worked at a restaurant in the neighborhood. Reviews were mediocre. The patio was often

crowded so he didn’t see her when she passed. They had kissed twice six years ago. She stood

across the street and spied. She figured he would pretend to remember. In other news,

the Japanese maples were on fire, the last hold-outs before it all collapsed. The woods had

holes, the city had wind. Her eyes stung and her nose ran. He wasn’t okay then, so why okay

now? That stressed her out. How do these people happen? She popped a Lifesaver onto her

tongue. Wint-o-green.

- Emma Rossi

One for My Master

But who can hear you thinking

In the car of the unknown god

A welcome reprieve

After a long day swimming

In the barely moving stream

The hills are fried by afternoon

When frustration is concrete

An impressive display from the road

Advancing on the divide

I’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen

And by anyone I mean the incurable

Those who parse their terms

Like long distance attachés

Now you find yourself in a similar jam

Flanked by quilts and handicrafts

Plausible yet fantastic

With a touch of the indiscriminate

So let’s face it

We’ve been driving in circles

Night is suddenly here

And you’ve been talking all this time

In lieu of making sense

- Aaron Simon

Paris in the Spring

Chain smokers crowded into the basement. Piano, drums and bass overflowed the small stage. In the kitchen, Dexter Gordon struggled with a squeaky reed. The lights dimmed and blue plumes of smoke filled the club. Kenny Clarke balanced his cymbals and checked the foot-pedal. Pierre Michelot did reconnaissance, taking in the single rose in a vase at each table. “Un, deux,” the club’s owner checked for sound. The young Serbian tenor player at the bar had raced over from Le Chat Qui Pechê to hear Dexter and Bud Powell, who was talking to the Danish couple in the cubbyhole nearest the piano. Dexter ambled onstage, leaned down and whispered to a woman, who chuckled. Bud took a sip of something and began “Don’t Explain.” Air whistled through Dexter’s mouthpiece. The drummer brushed a cymbal. One Czech student scratched her eyebrow with a fingernail. The Danish couple was immobile. Michelot went into a 16-bar solo until Dexter grinned, stepped forward and fluttered his long, fleshy fingers.

- Richard Chammings

Partisan

It’s been a long time not coming

where to go from here is a mystery

out of the tunnel into the night

I’m a follower

in an endless sequence

a reminder that my type is cast

I’m rambling again

but I’m listening too

nothing else I can do

what with the weather warping the wood

the oven malfunctioning

I’m here for lack of a better something

looking to apply myself

to the kitchen floor

it’s cool down here

under the butcher block

with a monumental splinter

christmas disintegrates before my eyes

time for a drink of water

the seasonal cease and desist

my name is unknown in these parts

yours is carved in the block

- Aaron Simon

Pile-Up

How can you

say so much

with such

little lips?

*

I am a lover

of the monkey wrench.

*

While only 20% of us

are sentient, 100% of our

machines are.

*

She was where her fingers

were playing.

*

Even the dumbest mosaics

are versatile.

*

When will all the disingenuous books

grow legs & commune?

*

Outside a dislocation

the tribalists.

*

Here’s to making crazy

look glamorous

and to having the last job

on earth.

*

Where all is written

all is worn down.

*

If I am a sick prick

and you are a droll doll

let’s drink to it.

*

Your lateral betrayal

is my rejuvenation.

*

These souls pile up

making me fierce.

- Casey Drouin

Postcard from Eugene

Suggestive of affirmation,

fate, funny odor from the table

beside disco a woman I kissed

once, morning fog dissipates

in my mouth. It’s the last hotel

your silhouette at the window

and the crumpled ocean.

Warm white towel

stitched with “forever.”

Colors coalesced

black and maroon

inspired by Spain

the grainy porn

we looked at all night.

- Ryan Nowlin

The Past

I try to refuse it. I wrap myself in blinders but it still trudges on, bearing

gifts: a watch, a wallet, Godiva chocolates.

And it won’t stop. It wants me. It needs me, and when I try to confront

it. nothing: a smile for my acknowledgment.

Sometimes, I have to embrace it. wine and dine it, take to out to a movie

for it to just leave me alone for a day or a week. Am I the only person

who can see what is good in other people?

My entire childhood I thought there was no mystery to the rain yet,

I’ve managed all these years through stupid tricks. No man is an island,

but I have seen all your shores. When did the afternoons

become burdens? Something to discard late at night along with certain

perishables.

Under the yellowing light the pickle jar, then morning peeled peaches.

Then a still afternoon. Another unnecessary burden. We rid ourselves

of all pretense. Maybe not.

If you never say never, you can’t say nevermind. Three-thousand-some

odd days in and I think we’re even. Even if you take it back, you can’t move

forward. Fast-forward a few years and tell me again how you thought

things would change for the better.

The answer on Jeopardy is always given first and never on your death bed.

This time I let the sun touch me. Now I wait. and outside my window

a plane. Also the leaves. In another window a house whose shoulders

are half raised in apology as if to say this is how we are made.

Two dead aloe plants, tendrils, yellowed paper, cinnamon, the head

of an evening moth. Another hot day at the office. Sounds in every corner.

A person talks.

- Ryan Nowlin

Rachel

Rachel isn’t interested in anything

She likes the beach

That’s it

Surely there’s something else

Maybe physical love

She’s got money

So why am I paying for dinners?

I don’t expect anything in return

No sexual favors

She asks me about my parents

What about my parents?

Do I get along with them

Sure but why do you care?

Why don’t you go to Africa with your parents?

Leave me and my parents out of this

I don’t even see my parents

I’m a loner

That disturbs her

She’s got friends

I don’t want them

Meanwhile I’m in training to be a physical therapist

That’s it

I’m going to let Rachel try to figure me out

When she’s in Africa

Maybe a wildebeest will explain

She never calls me

I always call her

Which makes me what? A social director? A numbnuts?

Probably both

Okay I’ll give her one more chance

Let me in

Take off your pantyhose

Look at yourself in the mirror

I’m right behind you

- Omar Husain

Sans-Culottes on the Radio

Ladies are you depressed by drips?

Maybe you’re overthinking it

Running it into the tar pit so to speak

I look forward to working with you

Once I get out

I promise to be patient with fermentation

Under your wing until I’m fully uninvolved

If you look down you’ll see the crown of a cabbage

(Or is that the baby’s head?)

Exhaling along with the wind

This pavement has been good to us but let’s take a moment

To ponder the other side of the street

The sunny side of stops and starts

Breathing concludes my testimony

Twisted in a mouth or throat

What a cruel place this is

I’m glad I’m not here

Pay up!

Money isn’t a friend

Personally I’d rather be under one of those open-air machines

One with drawstrings, piping and a pouffe

Outlasting the tree that’s down

You’re the one weeping in a fable

Because your ashes won’t scatter

It is told only to the feebleminded

Who stand agog

The donut peach is looking out for you

Steadying you

You keep pressing but the door won’t budge

Go out behind the garage

You’ll find a lot of ingots there

- Kostas Anagnopoulos

Silly Symphony

The smell of cut grass drifted in. Who left the patio door open? They smoked after supper. Uncertainty is natural. Hours lay upon them like carpets. Pheasants strutted on the field’s edge. Do thoughts constitute time? Green tea contains antioxidants. She preferred blue. There’s no comfort after the conflict starts. A daughter strokes her mother’s hair.

Exit ramps are linked by guardrails. Years of smoking formed a bubble in her throat. Schoolchildren understand photosynthesis. Mirrors need someone or something. His voice competed with a foghorn, shouts, loose manhole covers. Fold blankets on the bed. Parts of the speech were edited. He should not have used “elide.”

The room where occupants argued revolved. The cyan ink was low. Interest rates diminished. Greg loved a woman who hid whiskey in the pantry. Drunks sing more than a church choir. She fell twisting her ankle on her way to a dance recital. Once again the car jumped the curb. Choreography is essential. We couldn’t salvage the smart phone. Clumps of hair stuck to the brush. Don’t be such a baby. The Beatles wore turtlenecks. What if there isn’t enough for everyone? An error message was erroneous. Exactitude is impractical.

Cloudy with variable winds. They snored as they rounded the curve. His copy of Los Caprichos slid off his lap. A piggy-wig stood with a ring at the end of his nose. He said he wouldn’t watch the kids. The human voice is the perfect instrument. Their neighbor played arias at all hours. Through the curtains they watched people having sex. A metronome kept time. Gross domestic product (GDP) is economic activity adjusted for inflation.

- Richard Chammings

Social Butter

Why am I sitting in the dark

If not to conspire with my fits

Hole punch in the marginalia

Where I had my only thought

I’ll need this time to clarify

There’s something in the air tonight

Footsteps overhead

Get under the electric blanket

Fresh Widow sounds natural enough

Its day hasn’t come and gone

This is no place for counting sheep

But I feel safe in my corner

- Aaron Simon

Something of the Poet

If I don’t tell you about her she’s alive

among the few faces involved

tonight she’s asleep having the time of her life

and I’m sad and sincere and sentimental

about sickness flying in my car

thinking about her wonderfully crappy car

where no one can reach her
she may sing risking embarrassment

and dutifully I listen

- Michael Roberts

The Lonely Person

A lonely person moves to the west coast

to be with the one he loves or

he remains in the suburbs

where lack of emotional sustenance

verges on the pathalogical. He wants to get back

to himself, not this lonely person.

Still a goodbye look is what he is used to

in the subway, on the sidewalk, in an elevator

in a crowd passing through without pausing

to consider by what mechanism

his mind easily guides him

rarely touching so much

as a stranger’s sleeve. At home he listens

at the walls and learns too much.

He moves quietly through his small domain.

He knows when the people above him are gone

no shoes stomping around, no football games

turned up too high, no doors slamming

at dawn as they trudge to the morning commute

cars revving up, shouting on a cold morning

to the window above to throw down the gloves

- Ryan Nowlin

The Moon Last Night

The moon was high and red last night

a dog tracked me on a whim

jawing the length of the fence

in the time it took house names to travel

Palmetto, Hawthorn, Sweet Gum

we bolted from street urchins

politicians hung promises on bedsheets

what were you wearing?

gold? silver? nostalgia?

Tina and I debate

the red-headed, brown-bodied cardinal

adolescent female ripe in love?

I look it up in Peterson

A great belching undertow in February

what’s empty about it?

winter’s lingering whipped up

head forward, body flat on a board

fish chopping block

in willful surf (oxygen first)

come in, left and right

with your long tongues

red at night

a round sky

a pumpkin vestibule

The weeping man (not rabbit) in the moon

diverts the tides for turtles

the minute we sense danger

we volunteer rats for back-up

Give up your eclipse, you gourd!

Wings, ears, breasts

take what you will

death has no bath ticket for me

they call him Speedo

but his real name is Mr. Earl

volcanic ash, bones, wood

shells, cartilage

Ink is best for this

when I was young I thought

it wasn’t right to string

our rackets with cat gut

tall people walk short dogs

blonde thinking people

with shiny contractor bags

squirrels remove the tissues from their homes

mohawk man in color spectrum shirt

jumps a fence to see them

blue bowling ball bag over a shoulder

girls say “be nice” to dogs and guys

my glasses are too tight

I dreamed I raised a found baby

I feel like a refugee in my job

The wind wrestles in the cracks

I’ve taught children about salt, blood, ganglia and bone

I only know what I read in bed

my first reading chair was blue

it surrounded me like an eggshell

domed my brain, funneled me

made twigs of my eyes

my assistant squirts agarikon, red reishi

and birch polypore down my sore throat

that’s that

Sadie doesn’t like the way celery squeaks

most of her pranks are pretty smart

she broke a paint jar and sidestepped it like a fiddler crab

Jams I’ve gotten into

and out of with luck

always with men

Dennis almost lost his leg

on a Southside drag strip

nothing to do with me

the story I’m reading by Thornton Burgess

has a lark named Carol

a draft horse named Sydney

a trolley with a bug face

take a leap of faith, cash it in, miss

the equity on your good looks

cheap thrills at the drive-in

I put down my bottle of meat sauce

balloon over where? there?

we differ actively and passively

at all points, you crank

my innocence your unhappiness

I let you spelunk me

Start over

loathing is vanity

manikin in a window

imaginary national anthem

cherry tree planted for Barbara

when the vision is gone

I’ll only have my version

We construct a couch out of soccer balls

or make dice rosaries

never mind your next calling

this one serves you right

Those souls floating through airports

cool glass on a hot day

monk eating a short stack

he’s in some kind of pain

In Culebra raindrops bounce off one leaf

onto corrugated metal sheet

Leda says pit-pit-pit

to the chicks in the yard

little hands clapping

the rooster fans his tail out, up, out more

the port whittled down to its frigate birds

wind and water flat-out

don’t lose heart!

don’t lose sight, this way!

catbirds twitter and clouds shift

lizards scribble in the dirt

mimosas are shy

frigates fly, bringing rain

save face, look away

and away we go

can you be too inert

to climb a mountain

or eat someone up?

First to see the female night heron

diaphanous orange bark peel

rubbed red leaves hold fast

true green palmetto

those pure thoughts are things

pull over for a second

the dock is too short to reach

I’m here without an interval

speaking finch-speak

the impatiens are around back

the wild cotton never took off

sails come in with their shadows from Vieques

The man eats his cupcake slowly, with curiosity

he’s not from here

nor is the woman with banana bread

How old is young?

frightened forward

freefall as a child

adopting an orbit

in each garden a leech

did you like that verse?

unassailable as trees

the cat asks what kind of trees are unassailable

the cat says there’s no cross to bear

How much for a cook and a maid?

stranger things have happened

who passes, who raises?

so much is hidden

climbing the drainpipe

hollyhocks, dahlias, gill-over-the-ground

lilac, mustard, dandelion

cinque foil, yarrow in Long Eddy

the eyes in your ears

hives fenced electrically

against bears

Where was I?

what did I decide?

Hayden says Carol be careful

if you tell me who I am

I’ll tell you who you are!

What else was there?

moose caught on camera

moon gone

heading out to Mercury

friends on our tail in case we overheat

see the eye’s horizon

eye witness is legally blind

she left her baby on the beach

and took off for the mountains

Sadie asked me what jealous means

we’re saying goodbye now

I don’t know jealous

Olivia in a sundress

lives on corn, carrots and chocolate

what did the mountain name his son?

Cliff, that’s my dad, Sadie says

I’m the fall guy

Hayden punches me in the arm

to remind me

I tell Clara you look like a deer today

she says I’m a deer every day

Serenity fucked

I’m an unfriendly mother

butchering the simplest responsibilities

over and over again

half self-loathing

half strange loving

Come spring you leave things out

drawings, haircuts, musical instruments

Camilla works on her experiment

at the sink for days

mixing every single liquid known to man

it’s black as railroad coal Oscar says

it smells like coal

learn to let things go

catch up with you later

The big Caterpillar flattening banana peels

into goo on the driveway

running with horses in Whitmore’s meadow

blackberries and blueberries

it’s summer!

we eat berries and bring out the Ouija board

fairies appear

where do you leap in your dream?

I’ll bring my ukulele and sing

“Where Do You Leap, My Flea?”

all around the barns and chimneys

who do all those unbaptized babies

apologize to in Purgatory?

Moonlit dirt bumps

the road walks up to you

“going somewhere?”

to help the eyes make bigger circles

one year I lived without water electricity

toilet sink tub dresser shelf mirror bicycle

it was the best

nothing to lose

or put anywhere

I cut heavy scrub oak in Quogue

and fed white rats to the great horned owl

Dennis tried to enter his sister’s house

as a ghost

our closets met in Mississippi

where I got stuck to flypaper

working on civil rights

Does the fig tree summon the wasp?

I had a gentleman caller

who spoke in machine gun bursts

then fell silent

words are not a science

what am I doing without words?

they don’t match up, not with him, not with me

Did you find my socks at the bottom of your bag?

You remind me of Francis Patrick Butler

the wiry little Irishman

I didn’t lend my money to

or have a child with

I carried food and water

up and down the mountain in August

explaining teaching to myself

dressing Alex in my mind

tying her plaid shawl

over her green jacket

under her red hat

she talked a blue streak

while getting dressed

she wrote dear mom

I love you and I love to talk

The kitchen sink drain comes out

many times a day

so immature things won’t grow down there

I retrieve them and now and then

toss them in the salad bowl

- Carol Szamatowicz

The Wimp

This is your chocolate this is

Your Benedictine, your bed is

Starlit stop laughing

Just kidding don’t stop

This is a favorite season

For better lack of explosiveness

Why am I not more worried?

You ask. Just think of improving

Everybody think of the fate of a lost bullet

Not a stray bullet, you say

Here are your shoes

This is why I never go to parades

Why only my dad played football

All this seriousness about the room

Here are your glasses

For lighting flowers out of season

I’ll put them on your chair

So you can sit on them

I am how remote? You, me

Calico, the ivy

- Paul Maziar

Theatrical

History bubbles up to the surface. Where did I land after such a long fall? Nobody gets away but everyone gets it. Find somewhere to put them. Short declarative bursts are no company. You might have haunted many houses had you been a good ghost. These mini-houses form one room. The leaves that blew down the street are here in this sack, waiting for distribution. The cover has cockled and the pages are foxed. Who in the audience would you like to watch think? Head poking out of the door, eyeglasses hooked over her little ears.

- Clayton Albachten

Tragedy

So sad to have two heads. There just isn’t a bright side. Change the channel. How was

Fiddler on the Roof? Lately I’m into canning, mainly just the idea. I’ll wait until summer.

They’ve found another skeleton, you know, bones with jars and things. Who can keep up?

Lights are dim now, softening things. We do it to ourselves. Don’t try to love me.

- Emma Rossi

Western

It’s like August is like May

Mosquitoes of “Indian Heaven"

Appear locked in a tenth of a second

To see what they thought was there

All become death and its cozy sluiceways

We leave when we’re alive

At daybreak, eggshells on the horse trail

And once in a while say a few things

More than the dream

Hung in a tree not for birds

- Paul Maziar

When

Happy Birthday to me. Waves crashed, the markets too. Here’s J. I’ve tried to like her or kill her, it’s too much work. We put up the walls between us together. No more nude hose, I muttered. It’s time to blow but I’ll be here tomorrow. Time is strange, unromantic. On my own I can harmonize with whatever’s on. But a crowd unravels me. One moment a placeholder for all the others. It’s a new year. I am the luckiest.

- Emma Rossi

Winterlude

Fire escape dripped snow

Sugar dissolved in tea

Boredom took too long

To get where it was going

Sleep is reliable

You know that

I know nothing

Think of anything but snow

No snow

It’s August

- Omar Husain

You Can’t Fake It

Since you've been gone

I climbed a tree

got all scraped up

sat on a stump

frowned

and read a poem

I was proud of the guy

who wrote that poem

I got it

it was profound

full of citations

re our situation

it handled time and space pretty well

acknowledged summer

spring and so on 

and yet

its sole purpose was to spread money around

like infinity 

there's no french equivalent

i want to kiss you

but that's it 

we move on

the waves are cranky enough as is

we aren't exactly native to them

autumn had something to say in gold

god slowed down

dropped dead

the flowers showed up for work early

I'm sick of writing it

let’s look at something else

put a tail on it

let it wiggle awhile

love it a little longer

or other sediment

- Michael Roberts

You're My Opponent

I was lost in a strange driveway

sniffing around for mustard, dandelion, heal-all

& lost track of time

didn’t I see you on the road to Kent?

a red-wing blackbird?

At a party with parents of my students

a drunk parent with her mini skirt hiked up

above her underwear

like upside-down four year olds

should I punch her out?

a fiddler’s hymn steadied my nerves

but I like that woman anyway

I regret not retaliating for sisters

who were threatened, mauled, raped

and controlled like dummies

what should they wear?

gabardine, flax, wool, flannel, linen

loose around the waist

able to work lightweight machinery

a lever, a level, a saw

my grandfather shooed them away

from his coffee pot

let the tough ones risk their money on cards

The ceiling fan closes in on the moth with a dejected air

my timid vision of a flame

& a moon high enough to encourage a soft spot

I’m able to lower my head and listen

having a moderately hard time

it’s difficult to be civil

The sun sets on willow, rose, tulips, leeks

I cut through to a new path

smelling the foxes before I see them

I am goddamned Kit Carson!

- Carol Szamatowicz

http://www.larryfagin.com/