2 more poems

by chuck leary

heisenberg and st basil of cappadocia play gin rummy apprehending the benediction of contraindication despite the emptiness of flowers growing happily in the interstices of jellyfished kineticism the loose matriculation of narcissism overflows the percipient quagmire in the ruins of a snow-covered tower under the vertiginous wasteland of the expanding yawning zeitgeist but the zeitgeist has no amanuensis as barracudas chomp the debris of the empire of the forty graves

slender i hate poetry but i love slender volumes of verse i used to tell myself i was not a voyeur i didn’t understand porn or want to look at naked bodies at flabby boobs and dicks and asses or stand in the dark in the wind and rain looking through lighted windows at unsuspecting humans doing - what? but naked souls that is a different matter i admit it now i am worse than the sad peeper seeking a glimpse of ass or boob everything pales beside seeing naked souls i always thought stand up comedians were the bravest people in the world nobody could be more naked in front of a crowd with no cover and no excuses they either “killed” or “died “ of course i never had the guts to try it myself but if you can’t do standup or performance art or read poetry out loud what you can do is write poetry in slender volumes forget zines and anthologies where the naked ones can huddle together and hide behind each other no, it must be a lone slender volume the distillation of a single naked and lonely soul the fewer words on a page the better nothing is more naked than a book of bad poetry except, perhaps a book of ordinary poetry ?