Dawn Too Over the Medieval River

sitting wondering    smoke from his quasimodo cigarette
the battlements of paris are still around his brain
sunrise caught in their crenellations
dawn yawning and the earth turning under his feet

petrification is a long dirty road
earth dropping like dust from the rolled bottoms of his trousers
existential comfort is good for only a moment or two
then back to around the city walls     his endless pacing

the world is so nasty now that the middle ages seem like paradise
rasputin fingering the car company in his pants
the king worshipping himself as the incarnation of all gods ever
so don’t give me another medieval romance as a cure for anything
smoking your dreams is lethal    you burn yourself out
the thousands of this city    are ready for the light

Written March 27, 2025

Denly Ware

i hear them:

	sucks in abs o phorical saint
	munal soul just before it shakes hands with
	isolated     itted     denly aware of
	click     clack     prayed with after timing
	itself open in public     gument     glibly to say
	clear throat     rection     ar gue     think of myself now
	a self-delusion imagining itself in real time
	walk     walking’s free     come on over ethereal meatball
		hot city at the base of the clouds

	newly seized power from its house of wart monkeys
	mermaids and sea elephants dunking green donuts
	in one of the side fountains where dren fidently play
	a biolinguistic image of a stewed dragon projected on a cathedral wall
	a kitten carrying a barrel of water in a coffee cup

from Yew Nork (2014)

Two Kids Playing Catch

that once     as i was a kid
made no idea
the storm drain was much louder then
old age brings secrets of helicopters

to an older body     the black sky of sleep
at first draw a blue stripe at the top of the picture
the first time i went down to the subway
i hold its bones like dice in my hand

	behind grey clouds there is invisibility
	the water’s at the lip of the cup now
	then there’s green     that’s grass     at the bottom
	people waiting hardly moving for the next train
	you’ll never reach this age if you think about it
	so much space between green and blue
    
    
    
    
    

from Yew Nork (2014)

Pomp and Circumstance

i once thought of life as a play
one’s own play
with one’s seat center stage for the duration

but now i think that that isn’t true
that one’s life really is a play
that all the characters one knows are in it
that they are all in the play their entire lives
and     still     that one’s one’s own main character
but that that character is born and dies
in the middle of the third act

from Yew Nork (2014)