Philos:

The question of

existence has
recently fallen into
the house of

insignificance.

You have no tiles to hang,
no metaphysics to
conjugate.  I am substance.

Actuality.  The froth of
conversation opened
into the accident
of birth.

Remind me. of last
night.  The
bedsheets are stretched.
The conversation of
sheep, grazed on
the syllabed

Of significance.

We love in the green
Over lament of
Civility.

You are the brand.
I am the name
that shail

never be

Spoken

Caroline Shank

I'm tired of love
poems
The laundry of
attraction.
I weary of
sadness reiterated
Everywhere.

The wombs of
Creation
Are omnipresent.
I read your sojouron
into the skin side
of this
Madness.

No I don't know what
you mean.  The
Rhetoric of the
young, of the aged,
that moan of the years
that stretch, the direction
Empty
of arms to hold you,
of Kisses too
silent,
of hearts that beat
Alone.

Send me to the banks
of literature.  The Ganges
where dust quaffs and
Fire burns and there is
only the poetry of tears
for the

Unforgiven.

Caroline Shank
7.12.2022

Noon
Turns
and night
Is the
Bridge.

You step. Forward.

I cannot sommelier
The moment
Of drunken sorrow.

We made love under
Lies and the trumpets
Were off key.

The question never
asked was when
did you know?

The tattered fragile
rain of love runs
out the window.

Where was i when
time leaked out?

A cold sidewalk.
A faded flower.

The remains of love
is an urn.  
Smashsd sideways.
Rolls away toward the
Avenue A terminal.

The sounds under the
Bus were all the
Music  we ever

Sang.


Caroline Shank
7. 11. 2022

I didn't shed a tear until
yesterday.  Your memory
pulled me back
years of
the flood of
the days and nights,
the children, rogue
warriors in our battles
their  children confused
by the confessions,
the chest pounds
of sorrow.

Where you remain
under the guise
of husband.


Caroline Shank
July 10, 2022

It's a bad **** day here in
Texas.
The winds are hot and it's
starting to rain.  

I cant find my coat.  It got
lost at your funeral.  Now
my dry cheeks are wet
and i cant see where to go
The cracks in my face
are artificial.

The frogs are jumping after
phantom bugs, drugged
on the arid silence

I dont know how to do this.
Alone is an art form. No one
said it was Easy.  Willie's song
playing in my mind like a
jumping blue frog in the desert
that has come inside

I crossed the line too late.
All of your self is in the
pillow i no longer use.

I think i will read through
the afternoon. I can always
Cry in bed.

Tomorrow is another anniversary.

Caroline Shank
1.9.2022

Southern Days


I almost called you the other day
to remind you I have a birthday
soon and yours is near too.   I
knew you'd be busy and I put
aside my knitting to think about you.

Last year was the trip to Savannah.
I showed you pictures.  Jim died
before we could go back.  I wanted
to include you in my reminiscences.

Tomorrow it is supposed to rain.
I don't do anything on rainy days.
I sit by the window with my tea.
Remember I told you about my
cat. She stays close when she
senses I am looking for you.

I know Jim said you would come
when the sky was gray and I was
lost.  He thought I was lost a lot.
He would ask and there was
never a reply.  He was not waiting
to hear me.

He didn't know that the days of
a fine drizzle were my favorite
days. I watch to see if you are
walking toward me. Your tan, hands

Beautify.. My life with your strong
fingers. Your red hair ubiquity
of the love you left me when
I said no to you Un covered
you said goodbye and then
I died.

The cat knows and she kneads
my shirt.  I stroke her and
call your southern name out
Loud to the mirror of remembering.



Caroline Shank
June 19, 2022


Caroline Shank

I try for a gentle sound, to
say your name in quiet tones,
so like a bird having given
birth in a nest might not cry,
but would settle down to an
afternoon of birdsong, her
charge warm and waiting
for the yolk of future singing
be without requests having
no knowledge of choices.

Caroline Shank
June 16, 2022