Winds cut through thick fleece,
the sky is dirty-cotton-ball gray,
but it’s two days past the vernal equinox.
You want to see the daffodil fields.
We heave the youngest dog into the back seat
but leave the older two behind,
ask the iPhone, “Where is Wye Mountain?”
Pointing the sedan toward the gold, we go.
Twelve years ago
the daffodils were blooming
in St. David’s, Wales,
for the saint’s day.
Anointed, we were honeymooning,
touring the ruins
of the Bishop’s Palace,
clambering up the split levels
of former sanctity,
wondering about the hearts of the holy
buried below.
Bickering now,
we forged out of town,
on a road we’d never traveled,
but you had cycled this way with a friend.
“There’s the turn to Houston,”
you pointed.… ...continue reading
For seven long years
she was my client
I counseled her for naught
As she said, You’re just a
paid friend.
She loved nothing better
than taking medication
she thought it would fix her
a woman who could never
be fixed.
In utero, she was doused
with a diet of caviar and
booze, by a brilliant mother,
also named Julie, who won the
advertising account for
Look Magazine.… ...continue reading
In terms of an overall number from 1 to 10 on the happiness scale
I’d say that if I went back as far as I can remember up to the present
day, I’d give myself a 4 overall. I’d give myself a 4 because there
were times in my life in which I felt extremely depressed and even
suicidal. Then there were times in which I didn’t think very often
about suicide, yet wasn’t ecstatic about being alive either. The decent
times and the bad times came and went throughout my life, but I’d
have say that if you averaged in a mostly unhappy childhood, young
adulthood, including my twenties, but with considerable improvement
in my thirties, forties, and fifties, you’d have a guy who was a solid 4
overall.… ...continue reading
No one travels to this part of town anymore,
not since the 5:06 has been rerouted
and the filling station removed its pumps.
The sole radio station plays mostly static
cut with echoes of a distant broadcast,
the excitement of a local sporting contest.
Here it is all phantasmal and bleak.
I clearly hear the double screech overhead
and see proud brown wings flap in aerial attack.
Yet the underbird here, the smaller crow
caws loudly, like a chatty old woman
shouting out feats of raffish grandchildren.
This cackle draws an immediate response.
Black dots appear as if called out of thin air,
flying from distant branches to gather in force.
The twenty birds that populate the branches
of the early spring’s bare maple tree
understand how there is comfort in numbers.… ...continue reading
Winter
Curl into yourself, avoid going
outside because you hate the cold.
Spend your mornings in thrift stores
hunting for old paintings and model ships
to nest into your new apartment. Run away
to North Carolina to see the boy you’ve decided
you love. Run away to Pittsburgh,
then New York City over New Years
to see this same boy. Get an inch long splinter
in the back of your thigh sliding
across a wooden bench in Brooklyn.
In March realize it’s still there.
Stay restless. Stay sad. Grow suicide plans
inside of your suicide plants, like
ivy climbing around a trellis.
Spring
Get a job again, finally. Spend all of your
afternoons listening to the ramblings
of an autistic boy — retellings of cartoon
scripts.… ...continue reading
It reminded me of the time I was at a high school dance and the pretty young woman I was secretly in love with was standing near the dance floor and I had every opportunity to walk up to her and ask her for a dance but told myself it wasn’t the right time and what would I say while flopping around to some music that was nothing but noise and finally why does the guy always have to be the one to make the first move when in the end she didn’t look that great anyway.
– Jeffrey Zable … ...continue reading
Out of the blue
your gray matter
is tickled pink
with flying colors
you achieve peace
so you’re cool
as a cucumber
your thoughts
flat as a pancake
because you see
the whole enchilada
the world is slow
as molasses
like a brush stroke
over canvass
that completes a
portrait of bliss
resembling some
psychic reading or
astral projection
the third eye
channeling
the premiere of
epic stillness
written and directed
beyond time
starring what is
until you cast
the first stone
one by one
you put
two and two
together
feeling the rush
of division
pull your
whole number
into pieces.
– Dane Karnick… ...continue reading