harry-grossWhisper

American

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Winter Solsticesun and moon stand side-by-side in the great starless sky of this Monday Sunday Tuesday workweek / with ambulance stoplight caution I leap from crevice to crack of the ***** cement walkways that tear across snowy fields / staring at the world around me - faces as solemn unreserved apathetic mirrors of nothing in their corresponding souls

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To the New YearLate morning after dreaming of these / hand-written Alaskan three-dollar bills / Polaroid photographs of empty silver screens

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UntitledYou of the untamed *** appeal and soul appeal of a true Renaissance man / So called because each time your fingers brush mine / My night sky is Reborn for the ten thousandth time

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JasonI wish I could but am grateful I cannot / find the perfect word in my dirt-edged dictionary to describe this feeling / because all is not perfect.

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Cheersstanding shaking shivering cold among the ice and a thousand burnt-out cigarettes / I make eye contact with the waning moon and we share a fatal thought / and as I partake in the 1:19 prayer service of the hopeful

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Apocalypseprojects and projections from one mind one body one soul / painfully euphorically to the next in full-circle sunset / resting, waiting to be eaten up up and away into Oblivion

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