Joseph M. Gerace

>When poets don’t have a thing to sayIn the way of segue or endingThey talk to trees: Oak, Pine, Poplar, Spruce Doesn’t matter what they meant to sayAnything that shudders and drop seedsWill attend, fetishizing Whitman The metaphor gets contrived, conceited& the direct rebellion against it, solipsismShoves the reader into first person’s moth-eaten closet A philosophical…

>There was something I meant to sayAbout how my sexuality is like your sexualityAbout the rusty, blood-warm nails pounded throughmy sexuality, your sexuality But I cannot remember precisely what I meant to sayBeside that bit about my violence, your violence.

>Clam his fat purple questionIn the bag rainbow cereal flowers staleRecently shaved and though he carriesA new bathroom mat, folded and tagged  I doubt He shaves in the privacy of his own bathroomA menu and a paint pen, a cup of coffeeFrom somewhere else, black and olive drabMatch well, and does this concern you? Have the implications of…

>Why mention bulbous crociquadrisected from their fleeting escape?In contrast they bob yet dragon the Swiss-White serrated decline.( questions push sight backbut premature answers hurl usfrom the perchtrained from this reduction:substitution of image for shadow )The scope swaysin windy howl, in nerves, in memory knockingover a child-sized column of blocksscrollwork and English letters carved into each side.

>the sea walks inan adjacent room from the Southwest cornerto the couch from the Southwest corner tothe couch, patient crashing patterned like a Sufi tapestryfunerary gait, colors alive in the grave.

>you want to focus all thisinto one spot, all the lightcascades then pinpoint hotthrough pressure and worriesabout breath and good pullingout good hair and good sittingon your wooden chair, lookat nothing, hear nothing, eatyour ears and learn what heattouches and where and whereyou belong inside your whereand wear your wares so rare(so rare so rare so…

>he must protecthis essentials, it’s sort ofessential; the hard coatover his soft finger-partshe reinforces each with lacquer& the sun scratchinginto his eyes     isquickly sacked by iridescent shadesthe shades of which lovingly swishbefore being cut-in by lowbred redin an expensive tux. both examples fairly simple, butessential: he is willing toignore laughter: he wobblesin shade-chasing commitment,…

>a leg up on th’open door  s’afforded me certain  opertunities past  couple a years — i fer one can’t stand lookin’t th’sun beat street not one bit — eh doesn’t huurt  or nothing but all’uh little  lil glasses starin’p atcha  twinklin psychic tolls ta be paid is all  and anyway i always know whats comin cause’ah that…

>making love to the noisehalf-so-sharp, what yr allowed to hearbut the secret is soft, personal edges& quick-legged, leggy, we studybecause we must our histories made & ourculture, our quick-histories makingthe sounds repeating, mostly metallic ghostsceramic, erratic bleats, patternless repeatingpuddled cups of light over the racing pigsburn and hiss and sizzle, blip, nothing bigpatternless, bang & hapless…