Damocles Drink me down and dry, Damocles. Now we rise too late to greet the dawn. If we could hear the noise from our star it would pound, jackhammer-dull, burr-burr-burr; if the sun blinked-out, we would count down thirteen minutes (twelve, eleven) until darkness gulped us. The sound would outlast the last thing you ever saw. (eight, seven) (Can you imagine absence of vision/presence of sound, crumbled intimacy in the darkness— smashed by raised voices. Tolling intonations.
Failure I am a snagged stitch – I tug my knitting
unravelled to shapelessness
I am a blunt pencil – I chew my worn stub
taste words I might have written Disorientated in time and faith dementia’s eclipse casts over her moon
marooned memories sit misted by clouds her children’s feet approach once more
laughter pierces silence
she mourns their past innocence her bladder aches she awaits transfers
bed to chair recalls trains canceled or delayed
presses her assistan
1. Plant a sunflower
or two even more
precociously 2. Our captive escapee
almost abhors reservations 3. That crevices smell became
sententious all at once Colin James has book of poetry, Resisting Probability, from Sagging Meniscus Press.
He lives in Massachusetts.
I am not strong but I have built a house because to build a house, you don’t build a house. You plan. I am very good at planning and this is because I am very good at following through. For a very long time, these were my plans: Move out of state. There will either be happiness, peace, finally, or there will be a bridge between cold sky and deep water. My research shows that bridges, while probably not totally painless, are only slightly less effective than firearms. Plan B,
Holy Socks I have a hard time throwing away holy socks.
Every time I put one on, I think, awe man,
… this ain’t so bad.
When I put one on this morning, my big toe
Was halfway out. A rebel sock making its own holes
a fingerless glove for your foot. Brass knuckled toes
with a chip on its heel. But I found another one
the same as the one with the holes
But without the holes, and I put that one on.
and put the one with the holes back
with the other socks. I couldn’t thr
Acquiesce Crystalline spider,
size of a seed, thumbs
clenched edges of the
peony bud, balled
until it’s ready,
the arachnid’s need
to lay eggs inside Balloon in the intersection at night Floating pearl, string dragging
along blacktop, four-way stop,
this indecisive bauble bobs,
angling toward the streetlights
and the moon up there with them. The balloon's ring scrapes. Its
fullness lessening second by second. Hatsu*Haru
for Shizuki Fuji