CHRIS GORDON invisible circus

November 21, 2010 § 1 Comment

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Underneath the pillow

Making your neck ache

The Invisible Circus

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The Invisible Circus

Goes from town to town

Never really moves

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We hear the parade

That tells us it’s coming

The Invisible Circus

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Close your eyes it’s

Auditions today at

The Invisible Circus

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Your blind grandmother

Almost sold you to

The Invisible Circus

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The girls are all

Clean and well-oiled at

The Invisible Circus

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Everyone speaks

Italian in whispers at

The Invisible Circus

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Your father got lost

One day in the crowd at

The Invisible Circus

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The cards are all

Blank at the tables at

The Invisible Circus

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Cut your thumbs on

The Bearded Lady at

The Invisible Circus

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The Invisible Circus

Hidden in the design

Of Buffalo Nickels

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Your limp goes

Away on the grounds of

The Invisible Circus

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Their tents are made

Of the skin of burnt milk

The Invisible Circus

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Nine out of ten housewives

Have never heard of

The Invisible Circus

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The Invisible Circus

Forbids the clowns

To remove their make-up

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Your watch stopped when

You bought your ticket to

The Invisible Circus

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The knife at your throat

A hand down your pants

The Invisible Circus

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Take another ride

You never see it twice

The Invisible Circus

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She wears a mask

With feathers she found at

The Invisible Circus

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My hair fell out

Yours turned gray after

The Invisible Circus

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MASKS No. One

CROW HAIKU

November 8, 2010 § 2 Comments

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after the crow too many flies to count

a second glance at your wife the crow

when I crack the bones in my foot the crow

the crow

at night where is the crow

the squirrels never seem to mind the crow

used to rhyme with sow the crow

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the crow calculates the seconds

three plus five that’s the crow

at the gem show he’s invisible the crow

the crow

the crow’s friends they just look like him

after you sleep the crow

call me later I’ve seen the crow

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more than all you know the crow

the crow only his European suits

never on time but never late the crow

a last few tricks ask the crow

the crow

the crow has nothing to do with doors

not really black he’s purple the crow

: : :

the crow will see you after the show

dances in the rain because he can the crow

the crow wants to meet your little sister

lucky on the right but not on the left the crow

between the tweezers the crow

when you can’t make love the crow

on the wire more than you know the crow

: : :

did you say bless you to the crow

cheats at love but not at cards the crow

the crow

the crow says something says it again

on the bus everyone’s the crow

if you have a puzzle call the crow

even in empty spaces the crow

: : :

partial to reruns the crow

never been a verb the crow

hold the onions it’s the crow

the crow plays his last two cards

your mother’s umbrella used to be the crow

the crow red thread in tow

the crow

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the crow sharpens his beak on the road

your plans are funny to the crow

somewhere between your commas the crow

the crow drops an acorn for the squirrels

behind the snow the crow

reap sow he don’t care the crow

doesn’t know his own name the crow

: : :

the crow takes a bite on the way to the table

at the payphone the crow without his coins

the crow

the crow forgets to mention the moon

implied by the crow numberless is the way to go

the crow gets you to pull down your pants

he picks at you when you sleep the crow

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not quite a raven just a crow

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

:

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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

:

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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

:

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mosquito

I hit nothing

but myself

:

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slow dance

feeling her smile

in my neck

:

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TV store wall

every sky

a different blue

:

:

midnight thunder

the clock

starts over

:

:

morning dew

no hiding the way

we’ve come

:

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first autumn wind

not feeling the knife

slice my finger

:

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excavation site

the holes

living things leave behind

:

:

practicing

to make my signature

look natural

:

:

equinox party

returning home

the way I came

:

:

 

CHRIS GORDON Ginyu 3

December 31, 2009 § 1 Comment

ECLIPSE & RECURSION

:

she makes her point the wet tires passing outside reach us

:

the fall and the round the sloping green “your only friend is this thought”

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the grass drips into the hydrangea air my loose ardency

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beneath your weight on the sticky couch the smell of bleach

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Dido translucent like rice an accumulation of minor cruelties

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five crows meet on the roof next door we don’t know you’re pregnant

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voices from the grade school the sink filled with shifting leaf shadows

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a memory of our collective death your conduct disorder here

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in from the rain I smell like a dog the folds in the pink napkin

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fork tines not the actual sensation

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the barren spindly trees where they overlap I’ll meet you there

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filling with spiders your shoes darken inside to the toes

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will the plague end this winter three times in the direction of the moon

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silver in the dusk eucalyptus leaves the sidewalk narrrows

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