Against the Solar Eclipse
It’s a black swath that cuts across
A part of the country that’s a myth.
Does Ohio even exist? Not here,
Where the post office blends
Considering the Trebonites
When we interviewed them, we found they had no insurance / and believed in great acts of page turning.
Courage
When I wrote a check for fifty dollars,
that’s all I have I said to the taxi driver
who locked the doors of his black Mercedes.
He drove like a maniac down a dirt road.
The Wedding Doll
She boxed me—saving me, she said, for the wedding.
She shall be my centerpiece, stand next to the cake.
That was when she was twelve.
The Old Stove
Ray-J (age 13) is the content/ideas man, and I’m the form-style-structure man. To borrow from Robert A. Pirsig, Ray-J is the Romantic mode of understanding; I’m the Classical mode. He either wrote down or told me what he wanted to convey, and I assisted him in putting the material in ‘poetic’ form.
Abandoned Bicycle
A bicycle—a nice one—
has been locked to the lamp post
all summer and fall.