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
:
:
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”
:
the grass drips into the hydrangea air my loose ardency
:
beneath your weight on the sticky couch the smell of bleach
:
Dido translucent like rice an accumulation of minor cruelties
:
five crows meet on the roof next door we don’t know you’re pregnant
:
voices from the grade school the sink filled with shifting leaf shadows
:
a memory of our collective death your conduct disorder here
:
in from the rain I smell like a dog the folds in the pink napkin
:
fork tines not the actual sensation
:
the barren spindly trees where they overlap I’ll meet you there
:
filling with spiders your shoes darken inside to the toes
:
will the plague end this winter three times in the direction of the moon
:
silver in the dusk eucalyptus leaves the sidewalk narrrows
:
ant5 