Monday, August 17, 2015

3 poems || John Grey


I keep score of
sacrifice one to you
put out burning houses.
I'm only five
in fact, no one alive ever has.
never met you -
like crowns.
my old man.
art teacher asked for a transfer
parents hide anything sharp.
cover of my sister's book.
stared down a cat with my evil eye,
the day I showed it to her.
the most feared hellion of them all.
the trembling, the screams,
when I grow up I want to be a fireman
dybbuk, daeva
you have and more.
night's emperor.
wearing these ashen faces -
my throne is any alley-way.


Providence accepts what God,
north, the interminable loop,
roads turn sharp, divine Providence
coming down. Pedestrians push themselves up,
continue. On Providence river concourse Providence,
Water fire! Out to Reservoir Avenue.
Construction begins Saturday.
Business to West Exchange Street to,
to work, weeds rise up. Nearly
access straighten. I thought 1 learned
the art of failure. Is this the place?
Been the ache, the agony,
And bend a.m. in at this voted succumbed.
At a ribbon-cutting ceremony that included geese.
Of course he knows February is the way
she started chasing me. My last


baby's shape changes -
an instrument
of bodies of life
but who's to say
by its many roles
that it's not
candlelight in endless dark
done feasting -
I heard them call it sin
in various stages,
hummed like a microphone
outside the glazed window
for a brief encounter
with poor relations,
sick cattle with withering steps -
sometimes, with those I know,
I think there's not some planning
that goes into them -
they are quartz peaks
they follow no set path
they've been a tree house
when a need to feel arises -
like a sheik in the Arabian desert
your breasts travel across sand -
it's feeding time
and you're perplexed
by your own goodness.

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