TOM CLAUSEN ant ant ant ant ant seven

September 30, 2011 § 1 Comment

After The Pleasant Part

:

:

from the soil

in the shovel

a beetle crawls

:

low cloud cover

early in the morning

her tight dress

:

in the tall stand

of evergreens

my cookie crumbs

:

reflections

under the bridge

a man fishes

:

without her friend

on the bus

her face

:

no one home

on the hard ground

a light snow

:

carried on

the flooded river

a beach ball

:

spring

removing the neighbors

from view

:

while they investigate

the accident outside

I order pizza

:

wild cherries in blossom

their land rough

with junk

:

all I know

she has a blue star

on her left breast

:

gray daybreak

her “to do” list

from yesterday

:

at 70mph

what I saw

wild turkeys

:

keeping quiet

last of the day’s light

on new grass

:

asleep

in the fallen scarecrow’s lap

a cat

:

the War

a woodchuck nibbles

beside the freeway

:

at the next urinal

he studies a tile

higher up

:

garden walk

she checks herself

in the pond

:

the crow

in me

gets a response

:

dentist chair

the sun comes and goes

from the window

:

cemetery

tracks in the snow

lead out to the road

:

the habit of looking

where it used to be

the mirror

:

on her cell phone

going into the building

“I love you too”

:

on time

the daily truck load

of pigs

:

after the pleasant part

of our walk

we hurry

:

warm spring day

a bra

in the bushes

:

the chain link fence

runs into

highwater

:

writing him

the second letter

without complaints

:

dinner over

he addresses

some crumbs

:

heavy overcast

between bench slats

a sprout

:

:

 

JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant seven

September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment

Yet She Tells You About Owls

:

:

I look for my ax sounds of distant trains

:

Horns swirling my ruined reeds

:

Cup your hands hold the iron water briefly

:

After the storm all morning gathering tree branches

:

Wondering about the unreadable billboard I boil an egg

:

Ropes and bags of sand even I remember the old garage

:

Plums in a plastic bag on the picnic table the fountain lights

:

On the path to the water pump sky filled with stars

:

At a loss for words using bleach to clean your infected toe

:

Laundry on the line grasses move in the ditch

:

Stirring ashes with a stick crudely drawn phallus

:

The pond is frozen hard nipples beneath your shirt

:

Three pennies in a urinal full moon tonight

:

Before the universe not even nothing to piss you off

:

Toy truck rusts in the sandbox measureless grief

:

You don’t even like her yet she tells you about owls

:

The juniper is ill with mold I need new eyeglasses

:

Sprouting through plastic grass seed left in the rain

:

The hammer feels warm I wipe my face with a rag

:

Paperbacks my glasses a change tin decorated with pin-ups

:

Near the lonely summer telescope an outhouse steams

:

Thunder approaches at my desk writing a letter

:

Scanning the phone book you find your name

:

In the barn straw dust climbs a column of light

:

Summer already I catch flies with my bare hand

:

By this time next year you won’t even remember why

:

T-shirt wet with sweat working the lower register

:

The wasp you don’t really like begins a new nest

:

On the hill of flowers your ragged mouth gives me ideas

:

Black angel in need of repair it’s just me lousy with tools

:

:

 

JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant six

December 3, 2010 § 1 Comment

I OFFER YOU AN EYELASH

:

building a stone fence a scattering of feathers

:

smell of incense meat scraps in a plastic bin

:

mouthful of willow rain on the shed roof rain wherever

:

lifting up your dress from behind fire-scorched land

:

basket filled with stones the graveyard we wandered in

:

dreamed we lived in a corn maze what a curious word chthonic

:

axle grease on a rag blunt ruined fingers and eucalyptus mist

:

wasps by the pump only the four elements are real

:

the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer

:

the shade of a hemlock I offer you an eyelash

:


M. KETTNER ant ant ant ant ant five

May 18, 2010 § 1 Comment

WRENCH IN A COFFEE CAN

:

words

spent fuel

gum beneath counters

:

dawn / a can of spilled paint

:

after we part

a glove floats by

on the river

:

fast moving clouds / picket fence missing a slat

:

Secanol

Ping-Pong ball caught in a vacuum

parking tickets unpaid

:

your hair drawn back / the sharp taste of radishes

:

snow-covered fields

sound of a distant truck

changing gears

:

scratchy throat / wrapper caught in a fan

:

cavity

crow shadow

on snow

:

the back of your neck

through the rain

a car’s horn

:

autumn wind / sliding over empty table tops

:

no one home

dust ball

base of a chair leg

:

blocking the alley / a rusted water heater

:

list growing

waves eating away the shore

pull-chain worn

:

sitting on sandpaper

your hesitation

a hole in a plastic bag

:

teeth just cleaned / new bake-ware

:

Saturday rain

wrench in

a coffee can

:

through cattails / a refinery

:

one of those days

vacuum cleaner

in a vegetable garden

:

black of moonless waters

two front teeth

missing

:

biting her nails / coffee cold

:

old puddle

in the sediment

dead worms

:

winter’s endless rain / the scorched bottom of pans

:

wind

blowing through the house

fingerprints on the mirror

:

quiet afternoon

at home

full penny jar

:

spring thaw / tarp pulled back

:

overnight

in an unfamiliar city

slug in a vending machine

:

dusk / the spray-painted traffic sign

:

stark escarpment

heart a bag of rocks

ocean a distant pool table

:

JIM KACIAN ant ant ant ant ant five

January 11, 2010 § 1 Comment

The Slate Step Brightens

:

:

mating dragonflies

the slow folding

of her wings

:

:

out on strike

the uncomfortable hang

of his hands

:

:

winter morning

the scrape of a coat hanger

across its rod

:

:

cemetery

the sharp edges

of the new names

:

:

after rain

the blueness

of fireflies

:

:

20 stories below

the gestures of people

are meaningless

:

:

wittling

till there’s nothing left

of the light

:

:

cold snap

the automatic door

opens slowly

:

:

our goodbye

all the places

where we touch

:

:

party over

the long down

of the elevator

:

:

long slow curve

passing again

beneath the geese

:

:

after snow

a faint yellowness

to the white house

:

:

light rain

the slate step

brightens

:

:

visiting home

in my childhood bedroom

the same shadows

:

:

the mathematician’s wife

pregnant

again

:

:

the river

the river makes

of the moon

:

:

slant of light

the dialect

of the region

:

:

throwing away

the envelope marked

“simplify your life”

:

:

empty mailbox

she leans awhile

on her walker

:

:

new green leaves

a child I don’t know

waves to me

:

:

New Year’s Day

a message on

the answering machine

:

:

mosquito

I hit nothing

but myself

:

:

slow dance

feeling her smile

in my neck

:

:

TV store wall

every sky

a different blue

:

:

midnight thunder

the clock

starts over

:

:

morning dew

no hiding the way

we’ve come

:

:

first autumn wind

not feeling the knife

slice my finger

:

:

excavation site

the holes

living things leave behind

:

:

practicing

to make my signature

look natural

:

:

equinox party

returning home

the way I came

:

:

 

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