Joseph M. Gerace
-
>Terpitude + M-W Poetry Project p1: Metaphor of Anemone / and Failures
> Quick Explanation: I’ve been slacking with my writing recently. Between my job and ‘extra curricular’ activities, in a dark, dark corner somewhere I find a little solace and sneak away to write sometimes, but it’s not enough. So I’ve designed a quick and simple writing exercise for myself ala college Sophomore-era creative writing classes:…
-
>George (Autopilot)
>something so lite so overwhelmingthe risethe sadsand, sinking alldog barks, a remindersome live for questions and somelove livid reality, lapping at the marrow. what a strange eastern european tradition,lapping at the piddle marrow, when there’s so muchmeat circling the bone. if unspoken, traditionshutter a whisperingneed, call it a habit.and if you turn off a thingnever…
-
>Delta: Flight 80 (Unfinished: Will be led)
>Punctured plane window,A variant of any death,The numbers fall away: Now, in fear, she is equalizedSound erased – In sloppy strokes,a child rubs the butt of his handOver half-dimmed pencil marks — Now, placated and abundant:Reference point a descent;Reference point distant,Controlled by a panicked calm Punctured plane window,The ice collects in rivuletsAround her eyes,Nose, mouth…
-
>Lovely Rita
>It’s so easy to miss the off ramp,drumming up the wheeland screaming raw your lungs.
-
>Calaca #2
> down victorvictor drownblack townscare kidscreeping aroundblackout lightride it outdrown victorblack townunderwaterunderwaterunderwatereyeless visionno never not notno not never nevervictimless revisionblack towndown victordrown town
-
>White Trash
> what’s the poisondegradation, the failing of language — more &sore swallowing feels the same —the radiating nervousness,from the bone out, aboutto vomit, to convulse,in the interest of hidingyour fears you hide thembehind cars, under baseball bats,inside bottles — half drunk — in the powder sallow in yourcheek. ‘Who’s hiding?’‘What voices?’ the stone rolls back,…
-
>FUTURES
> ” … & wind which the eye loves so deeply itwould spill itself out and liquefyto pay for it … “ -from Futures by Jorie Graham I worry that when I’m dead, someone will exhume my ridiculous Black Books (which WILL be buried with my fleshy flesh flesh) and structure some base cowboy religion…
wikipoem.org 