the dead parts of me
June 6, 2014 § 1 Comment
onion grass my son pukes in the sink
the moon who cares where it is
your feet they’re nicer than mine
bottle caps rattle among the spoons
the crow says something for the crows
asphalt heat and foreign policy
the dead parts of me pester the rest
stale crackers easy to put them back
your twat I never call it that
the cat’s meow what’s that really about
the penny not as old as it looks
the extra napkin always gets tossed
rain check nothing to do with the rain
your fingerprint a consistent prostitute
the place on you I know you can’t touch
box tops they usually tear anyways
nails one of them in my foot
sassafras people still actually say that
your panties entwined with my odd socks
toothpaste not sure what I’m supposed to think
all the knives clean I hit the lights
JACK GALMITZ ant ant ant ant ant 12
April 30, 2013 § Leave a comment
THE COINCIDENCE OF STARS
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Home an acorn on the floor
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Between the dust and the books a few deaths
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Amateur night
I sit on the stage
and imitate a stone
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In the crowd
I multiply
and divide
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Snowdrifts
The morning moon
is a fist
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Morning boiling milk overflowed
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A field of new grass so soft I hold my wake here
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Coins in my pocket
Watching seals
swim in circles
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The sky has cleared-
daily a darkness
spreads within me
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At the zoo
I describe to the monkies
the sky’s many blues
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Male parts and female parts am I a flower
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Where I’ve been I cannot say I’m him
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A chick
cracks open its shell-
the world rushes in
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Those clouds
War horses
at their hour
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Winter night
two men pass
without a sound
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The son of man returns fruit carts stacked
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Space junk who’s going to clean it up
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cars pass melting
in an empty wine bottle
a man’s reflections
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along the shore
a row of girls
all in white clothes
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Let’s find a shell
strip it
and make a bed
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We live in the dark the coincidence of stars
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traces of snow facing the morning moon
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She always remains
a step ahead
the marshlands of myself
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My face
was her face
in the beginning…
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Quattro cento face
the body a serpent
laying eggs
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oak leaves in the wind talking again
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gray matter, leaves, swept in a corner
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I cannot decide
which one I’d choose-
Caryatides
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Walking down the stairs
her bodies stir the sun
to be aware
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A prostitute
serves an acquaintance tea-
Sunday
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