6.18.05 reader excerpts

Micah Ballard

Benediction

They should like
to be quiet, motionless
no more alive than
before. But now the

royal ghosts are calling
the empty theatres
their thieves, harlots their
garlands. Is it the toil

in spirit or sounds
of open tombs that after
time one becomes numb
& so the hour no longer

comes. Last night
her body was carried
to a small wagon
& a death mask–

cask of her face
& hands were made.
Gone are the guests
bones of those who

have not stood alone.
Buried early morning
& involuntary exile
may their remains

cease to be released
& her name left behind
as both signature
& sign.


En Route

for Jeff Butler

Scores of letters, telegrams & poems
Lie unread on the table. Veiled in the folds
Neglected light, there are no more arches
Only wall & shadow. Head of Nero
Bone-pin & scissor, in uniform departure
They pass in procession & do not stand up
To cold or hunger. We keep moving, making
A white cross over both wrist & shoulder.
This does not work well. There are five marks
The first of which enables life after death
So let the first override the third & second
Override the fourth. There are no
Excavations here, only private vaults
Ceremonies left without safe keeping.


Patrick James Dunagan

Acts of Faith

Gazing at the river I understand suicides

in a sky of burnt pink

my eyes turn to blanks

each and every feeling comes along

on a gorgeous afternoon

of course I continue to walk

it wasn't like I'd go for a swim

all the colors of the clouds

piled high and proud

orange purple grey and brown

white mountains I accept

a later day to climb

Randall Jarrell

Natalie Portman is my crutch in this poem

of truths I've nothing to hide.

Every "I've never heard that name" line

like television background noise

another story of full circle success at a young age.

Competing with the movies is difficult

living with a woman in love with herself.

Committed to the words "I love flesh"

into the Real I fold up the screen

following her down the street

as the cars pass and the agony begins.

Cedar Sigo

LIVE at The East

These tears
bury
They have been
left out
in Hades sun

Patterns in
music I once
found difficult
to distinguish

Now repeat
themselves
in fire and
kiss the ring

connecting
passages
to the black
vaults

and crowned heads
of the
coral seas, the edges
of their
collars

had onyx scaled
to amber
The dust
that we wish
to gather against.
That would flash
on me still

The writings
already
a tape already
revolving
so much


with jewelry
cleaners
concentrate
Make light so
pained
No smoke
in the
lungs.



***note: Cedar's poem has lost its line formatting here.

to see this poem in its original state below or click here.

my apologies.

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