Cinema of the Stitch

Nothing dizzying about 

this arrangement of death 

masks embroidered on linen 

napkins, one for each new 

dinner guest, a new guest 

list every hour.

[LSS, 8/31/22]

 

No Whip-poor-will

Just the cigar store cowgirl 

whiting out addresses 

from postdated electric 

meters no longer talking 

about death.

[LSS, 8/30/22] 

Vacant Lot

Days running through August 

like dead dogs, 

piles of abandoned 

drawings, poems, weeds, roots 

still clinging. 

[LSS, 8/29/22]

Carnivore Mailbox

Converting one life 

after another 

into your own 

day after day 

unstamped post 

cardiac arrest.

[LSS, 8/29/22]

 
Death #4 (Silhouettes) 

Four a.m. and just past
the witching hour
no rustling leaves
no owls calling

air conditioner runs like horses
jacking up the utility bill
will the President cancel
part of my loan?

the garden porch light
rests in abeyance
tantalizing moths and beetles
no whip-poor-will perched

morning songbirds and anoles
take their rightful places
lacking given names, they
become interchangeable and generic

[RK, 7/30/22]

Death #6

Those old fogey leaf silhouettes
hunter green and dusty pale blue
solid black and sunset orange
aspen yellow and purple sky

here on 20^th Street and Central
my mentor’s hillside Arizona patio
miasma of the sub-tropical zone
saying, fuck you, we go on forever

[RK, 8/13/22]

Escape Velocity

I waited for the mockingbird
to notice the anole
eating a bug

whole food chains appeared
from T-Rex to the great white
plausibility conundrum

destroying other life forms
is how life forms continue
to live, breathe, breed

with a whoop-de-doo
and a hey-nonnie-nonnie
and a ha-cha-cha

[RK, 8/13/22]


Downward and Outward

I’ve been talking about death since 1968
drawn to the cycle of reincarnation at
age twelve, writing childish rooftop poetry

comparing people to flowers or clouds
zipping in bang endings a la Hergé’s Tintin
practicing the neatness learned in school

no loose ends, apt metaphor for karma and maya
now I dream of that long ago house, sneak
inside in bizarre scenarios that leave me

tossed from the bed, bruised on the concrete floor
immediately wondering if a possible head injury
will trigger the transition to the next

[RK, 8/13/22]


Wrong Number

yes it was this Tuesday, AND next Tuesday
it was this week and all of next year
centuries, millennia, time measured
in James Webb telescope light year images
now they send text messages and emails
to remind you of the appointments
you try so hard to forget

[RK, 8/13/22]

Wrong Channel

The telegram suggests 

that there is something 

I need to respond to

ASAP—

but my next panic attack

isn’t scheduled until this—

or is it next?—Tuesday.

[LSS, 8/8/22]

Onward and Upward

You've been talking about death for as long as I've known you.

Maybe that'll be the opening line of my next poem, 

but first I must rearrange all those bottle tops, fishhooks, 

and oxidized grommets you left piled on the beach 

into a message that you can decipher once

you break free of the known universe.

[LSS, 8/2/22]

Escape Velocity 

The water strider bounces on the pond 

until it breaks free of the surface. 

You might think its hard work 

has finally paid off. 

The birds waiting in the willows 

know otherwise.

[LSS, 8/2/22]