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Church Bells

She stands naked

her body in the light that come from the street

quivering

her lips wet with complication

trembling

her legs in the silence

shuddering

e y e s closed

Through

her heart blue rivers rushing

her heart

is in the shape of a city.

c h u r c h bells ring

and every

one she

has ever loved

r u s h e s in

The Theological Studies of Insects

.

.

Winged insects

Seminarians of flight

angelic instructions

 

Bees studying architecture

Poetry and Rhetoric

while crickets pour over

illuminated books debating

inconsistencies of the Word.

 

The ants are busy

learning industry and geology

while spiders contemplate spinning

and weaving techniques

their long prayer shawls of silk

dragging across my floor.

 

 

Orange County

.

.

.

Copia Latin root of Copy abundant (Connotation: Wealth)

            Sub    [less  than]    Urban.

My parent choose Plan 3d (3 stands for 3 car garage. D. stands for deluxe floor plan)

            Watched it grow.        Skeletal pine. Stucco                   

                                                                        Paradise of imitation Spain

 

Los Angeles River     Cement Highway of Rain God

I ride my bike to the beach (10 miles)

past     Plan 3a’s 2b’s 3c’s              My head filled with brochures.

            the waves,             the flat sea,                  stretching to Urban Tokyo.

 

 [Abundant],             miles and miles of              Sidewalk.       After  thought

            of architect,                      Picture frame,   Wide

 as a hungry mouth.                  Surrendered to the Auto-less

 

We wander miles               of sidewalk that connects nowhere

            to nowhere.   We spend hours in 3 (car garages)

 

Or 2 and smoke pot.

            While our mothers sit on the edge of couches

In sunken living rooms

            Smoking cigarette after                cigarette.            .

 

 

 

Fidelitio

Fidelito

 

Fidelito was from Havana

a burley man with a bushy mustache.

Fidelito worked in Queens for a small time hood named Whitey

 

It wasn’t always that way

He once was a baseball state in Cuba

a Pitcher

Left Cuba on a raft to play American baseball

Triple A minors in South Dakota

South Dakotas didn’t like Cubans,

even Cubans who could play baseball

 

So he gave up baseball

moved in with his sister

who got him a job dealing cards in

illegal games in the back of

flower shops and mortuaries

 

Fidelito missed Havana

he would go to Cuban movies in Spanish Harlem

and weep for Cuba

 

Fidelito signed up for the bay of pigs

but decided to forgo the heroism a make love instead

 

Lupita was from Guantanamo

and she tasted like Cuba

 

He rushed her without

cover and took her without

revolutions her body surrendering

 

as Kennedy sneaked into the room apologizing

 

Fidielto slept dreaming of

Summer the crack of hot wood

sweet sugar cane sweat

and the roar of the workers

their faces smiling as he rounds third

 

and Fidel rolls over in his bed

and Cuba falls into the sea.

 

Germany 1939

Germany 1943

 

Adolph smiles and looks at the bratwurst

Benito sitting behind him

drinks the wine.

 

The summer is hot and Benito’s neck sweats.

 

Eva is hanging shirts on a clothesline

the summer has bloody hands.

 

Benito snores

Adolph reads his reports

drinks tea

signs orders

 

He picks up a red ball and throws it to his dog.

The German Shepherd digs her teeth in deep

 

The Rabbis have lost all their gold

and the trains leave on time.

 

Benito wakes for a moment

 and winds his gold watch.

 

 

* Anthology Magazine

The Accordion Salesman

A tall thin man in a gray suit comes to my door

with accordion keys for teeth

 

He smells like a salesman

His lapel pin reads, “Milton Mann Accordion Studios.”

 

He pulls out a 120 base Contello Accordion

Silver with red keys

 

Stretching out the bellows

angels fly from between them.

 

His hair is a raging fire of notes

F sharps twirling up in smoke

 

“ Here Kid!”  He hands me the Contello.

 

It covers my body like a partial eclipse

I pull out the bellows and squeeze

Notes fly from the reeds like startled birds

 

“You are a natural kid.”

 

We sign on the dotted line

He smiles

Shakes my hand

and walks away carefully as not to

trip over his tail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sputnik

 

 

 

A man walks out of his apartment and sits on the front door stoop

watching a star move across the sky

traveling East to

West and Sputnik blinks back like a one-eyed man

 

In Kansas

Silos pace back and forth nervously while a little boy

rides his bicycle over the family bomb shelter

in circles

 

Old Mayans

looking into the sky

read the old prophecies

Scratching their heads

 

While Atlas shrugs his shoulders

Swats at a fly

Canaries

An old man sits

Dry as a moth            motionless

except

for the small clean fast blinking of

his eyes

                Sending Morse code      dot dot dot dash dash dot

 

A record plays

it plays bird songs

 

 

Canaries, Lovebirds and Starlings.

 

            “Grandpa, why do you have records of birds?”

            “To get lonely birds to sing.”

 

Round and round the room

Bird song 33 Rpm’s on an

LP

LP= Long play 32 minutes repeat

Auto-Matic-Ally

 

Birds die while

Records go round and round and round

 

The old man sits        motionless

except

for one clean perfect flash of yellow

in the white moth like flutter of his eyes.