WISH I HAD ALL SEEING CATHODE RAY GOD VISION, DISCERN DYING LOVE IN YOUR SMILING EYES,
INDIFFERENCES GERMING, PITIES FORMING, WORMING UNCARES, WARMTHS  IN HEARTS COOLING,
ELSE A SIGN, A ***** WITHER, EYES WRINKLE, AN OUT WARD SIGN YOU CHANGED, HATE SEEDED!
THE SOUL DYING, SHOWED IN YOUR PRETTY FACE. ANY SYMPTOM, HORNS GROWING, SKIN CORNING,
MUCH AS I TRY, OUT OF BOUND ARE INNARDS REAL, THE MIND FATHOM ALL, IS A TASK HERCULEAN!
SO I TRY THE HEART, AND MISERABLY DO FAIL, IT DOES KNOW ONLY A THING, MY LOVE STRONG BUT INCAPABLE!
LOVE HAS TAKEN FLIGHT, SO I DO TRY WORDS POETIC, ESSAYING SERMONS, SELF CUT ****** BARE.
BUT THOU ART A SHELL, HARD TO BREAK, SOFTNESS INSIDE, UNKNOWN TO YOU, THUS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME!
FLOWER, IF YOU CAN, SO I CAN DRINK.ENABLE AND ENNOBLE US, COME IN TO EACH, FUSE AND BLOSSOM!
ELSE MY ANGELS, MAKE THE OUTWARD CHANGE, BASED ON THE INSIDE, A SIGN TO UNDERSTAND AND FATHOM!
OBSOLETE IS MIND, SEEMS HEART MORE SO.MAY SIGNS SPEAK AND SHOW ALL, THE IN ON THE OUT, PLAIN TRUTH!
WORSE STILL, I MAY SEEM THE SAME TO YOU, THE WORLD, THIS I AM NOT, NOR ARE YOU. LETS BREAK IN!

I pushed aside a plastic box
of plastic-backed thumbtacks,
a half-roll of Scotch tape,
and a paperclipped stack
of edited verse to write
a letter to you.
It went something like this:

Dear Audrey,
     No, that's too informal.
     Just her first name would imply
     our friendship didn't mean anything.
                     What about
Dear Mrs. Barber?
     Way too formal. Like, am I going
     to follow it with "can Billy come out
     to play," or "I'm sorry I threw snowballs
     at the side of your house," or "I apologize
     for skipping your class to pop Tums
     in the nurse's office."
                     Maybe
Dear Audrey Barber.
     Something about the sounds
     doesn't feel right. The Ds and Bs
     hit the eardrum weird, like marsh-
     mallows or caramel toffee.
     They're just too thick.
Dear Audrey Sofield Barber,
          There we go.
     It's been a pleasure knowing you this past year
     or so. In a way, I regret being there for the box-
     moving and the computer troubleshooting,
     but not for the sidewalk shoveling or book editing.
     Or driving you to Elmira Corning Airport to pick
     up your daughter. I'm an English writing tutor here—.

     Never mind. How's your book doing? I'm sure it's a hit.
     Enjoy Hawaii.
Sincerely,
     C. S. Cizek (Christopher)
    
P. S. I plan to purchase "Wellsboro Roots" over the summer
         and relive our conversations in Wellsboro over coffee
         and cheap sugar.

Thank you for the honor.

In a basement
There are nine people
-hands in pockets
-eyes on skies
-on the backs of eyelids reminding them their tries at ordinary, are lies nonetheless.

And I am the tenth.
I do not know where to put my hands,
so I cut them off.
And everyone else out.
And pay mind just to breath, teeth at a reality that is not ordinary.
And college kids getting ****** up
Is not a rebellion.
And college kids getting ******
Is not substantial enough for a love poem.

But I'm still waiting on rebellions and love poems,
hoping I can be a part of either.
My fists are on the ground
beating on the corning
--every **** thing I say mumbled or ignored
--"that's me in the spotlight"
Puppets and puppies, both
strings and kicking at things

I've staggered off in my thoughts again
drunk rumbles through the trash
And you've staggered off in your mind again
I'm trailing far enough behind that
you don't think I'm following.

But the smears
of
red
and silver
and light;
Magnetic, baby.

It's not enough to hold the hands and walk,
It's not enough to have an endless talk,
It's not enough to kiss you once in a while
It's not enough, not until you smile.

It's not enough to buy you gifts,
It's not enough if our moment swifts.
It's not enough to serve my heart for a meal,
It's not enough, not until I feel what you feel.

It's not enough if you want to love her,
It's not enough if you just 'want' things for her,
It's not enough for her, just the roses red,
It's not enough, not until you kiss her on the head.

It's not enough to wish you morning,
It's not enough for a sweet corning.
It's not enough if I don't let you face the sky,
It's not enough, not until I let you fly.

****, they may as well have started holding hands
And making paper dolls together,
The way they carried on
Back in the neighborhood after push came to shove,
Like none of it ever happened:
All the times they spit on us,
The constant **** and ******* and goya,
The ***-kickings if we went one alley too far.
Peace didn’t last; hell, it couldn’t
It’s just the way things have to be, man.
If I ever got in front of some parole board
(Not that I’ll ever have that chance,
As I ain’t goin’ anywhere unless they send me
To Auburn or Attica for some change of pace)
This is what I’d tell ‘em:
You come home to your nice house
In your tidy little sub-development
After a day at Corning or IBM,
And you find out that some punk
Has ******* one of your daughters
And stuck a shiv into her quarterback boyfriend,
What are you gonna do if you find him
Hiding in one of your neighbor’s rosebushes?
Exactly. Save the taxpayers the expense of a trial.

Musta been a year, maybe eighteen months ago,
This bunch of goody-goody types,
All social workers and sweet boys,
Show up here to put on some **** play
Where this guy’s uncle kills his dad
And starts puttin’ the blocks to his mom,
And for hours it’s nothing but yak, yak, yak.
And I’m thinking Man, could you just ice the guy, already.
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen ‘Nardo’s ghost
(Let alone that ******’ ******’s one)
But if he ever shows,
It ain’t gonna be to accuse me of nothin’;
No, he’d smile and shake my hand,
Because I did what the code said you gotta do.  
Just what the code said.

of the morning
coffee percolating in the Corning
pendulum swinging back and forth
hands traveling south and north

the eggs and bacon are now plating
this full bladder is done waiting
doltishly climbing out of bed
legs of rubber/feet of lead

clouded eyes cannot focus
breakfast table hocus-pocus
punching keys of grey
for two crumbs of pay

flickering of light through the glass
dew drops clinging blades of grass
robin chirping/squirrels scamper
***** clothes pile in the hamper

Beside the wall dimmed dimpled differential of corning
Bade to be mocked, moved it's the soul of an individual

I am a shield wheedle your way near get closer
Unbelievably boring what is done to me

Challenging utterances are solstice and waxen as words get closer

Mourn as if a draft caused the skulk, so somber free,
earthen remembrances can be

Cries white in ultricolor, alcoholic smears, their tuning
the same as they get closer

Their Persian or British, cant tell which of woven denials
been recycled from the quill that shoots the same narrow arrows

Cold agreement for stronger men,
travesty and disease,
synonymous girth
Yet inside the holes of targeted mandalas
tracking as they get closer

Trophy of denigrations, oh no' not upon these frowned
and bracken murks molding the clay of our thoughts

Passive injustice, two words phonetically inept,
in debut at catchy rhyme
Town masses martyrs behind the pandemic move
can they get closer to me or us...?

Perhaps we'll never know if we continue this inner awareness.

Sun in the sky, full moon has shone,
none to be slain as this holiday abroad and at home
still makes masked faces of confrontation as the death tolls...
get closer to us...