Two New Poems, September 25th, 2013

Makoli,
mountain made,
not the usual gray place
downtown, but
at some new

face’s farm, away
from priesthood
and into enzyme-
making, quiet, calm,
visited

when old friends
also need
a break from stress. He walks
us to a
neighbor who

fashions fruit, nuts and
lotus roots
into syrupy
delicacies; no
resistance,

no price too
high, so unique only the
fine top end
restaurants from Seoul
order. It’s all she

needs. They grow
pumpkins, leave the house open
until frost,
perfect recipes,
new kitchen team life.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Chemical change hits, causes sleep at about 3pm. The natural
bounce, bounce, bounce of afternoon replaced by bored disinterest,
struggle to care, lonely among friends whose only motive is to
improve English. Always one to use language as a tool rather
than as an end, this dichotomy widens when you can’t learn a
lick of the local lingo. Maybe ketchup sandwiches made back when
unlimited packets could be swiped were better days: raw, rough,
real. Unrequited loves pile now, dragging energy, so even if a
friend finds you a great exhibit, and the day job is on auto-cruise
dreams get interrupted by fast-paced conversations that blow
past window-front art in raindrops destined to keep the two
who were going to come at bay. Just seventy-eight steps ago
you remembered: you walk alone. No matter the importance of your
son, your private life, your wilting creativity, your gonna have
to pick up the pieces and carry on when snickers of discouragement
kick you from bent to fallen on streets replete with pushing
people trying to retain their place, be it so everly humble:
a street mumbler, toy peddler, late-night stick chicken seller. Small
Adirondack dream interrupts, pushes you further back to the once
was. How to shape that mysterious time into today’s sad flow?

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