четвер, 1 червня 2017 р.

Jack Galmitz - Three poems and one visual #5

Jack Galmitz was born in 1951 in New York City where he attended the public schools. He writes fiction, poetry and critical theory. His publications include Micron, a book of free verse published by Northing Press,Views, a book of literary criticism, and Re, a book of experimental short fiction. 

Thankful for the wind

that parts the vertical blinds
sometimes and fortuitously 
reveals the oak leaves
of a tree alone
that reject green
and so are the green
of years ago

Everything resists

the pressure exerted
by something else.
Else the world would collapse.
I find myself enclosed in
dust sand rock.
I work myself crouched.
I place odd shaped stones
in holes to keep the cats safe.
The stones don't exactly fit,
but I'm not a mason
just a man
determined that live things
don't fall in.

What you've done with 

death is gorgeous.
You've put makeup
on the deceased's face and dressed him in a suit
so that he never looked so good.
He's laid out in a wooden box
lined with plush satin
prepared for a long journey.
He's supine and looks up at the towering
dome on the rotunda, a reminder
of where he will soon meet his father.
The minister met him at the door
along with his mourners
and then recited psalms and prayers
and commendations.
During his life no one paid him
much attention.


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