POETRY
Alan Brewer
2 Poems
Intravenous Poetry
Once, I simply jacked in a few quarts of Ballantine Ale, punctured a vein & words flowed out, raw & bloody & beautiful. That’s how it worked thirty years ago. Tonight I try to finger a faltering pulse, hollow words rattling my skull, seeking a way out, some voice, a fragment of song. Music slides between the cells of my body, I keep dropping the rhythm, images fall through my fingers reaching into the air grasping for revelations, impermanent as snowflakes. I reach deep inside & find nothing, only words shelled of meaning, echoes of some ancient rhythm, rocking in the wake of a boat gone to a distant shore. |
Five Ways of Looking at a Pigeon
with apologies to Wallace Stevens and Tom Lehrer I Among twenty spotted park benches, the only clean one was approached by a pigeon. II I was of two minds, shoo him away or wring his neck. III The pigeon bobbed and weaved like a punch-drunk boxer. It was pathetic. IV A man and a pigeon, room in this world for only one. V I do not know which to prefer, playing pool or poisoning pigeons in the park. |
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