in memoriam Johnny Baranski
Folsom prison blues—
every man guilty of some
kind of innocence
a worm twists and turns
at the heart of a rose
see? with the beads
of glass I can show you
your rainbow
revenants of yesteryear
in her sleight of hand
now the mirror's empty
but for the stupid smile
of moonlight
a bolt-gun rings in the stockyard
poppies Hafiz, oh the poppies...
day after day
the quiet American
soldiers on
a chalk window on the wall
there's your escape
the goldfish stares through me
two blue-bottle flies
gather dust in the corner
a breath makes to softly leave
through a split infinitive
hand-to-brow
in one movement
mensch
mother's approval proves
the relationship's final blow
dead sea scroll
a caterpillar
of its end
OMG! there's a dog
trying to get into her ear!
and yet no one pays any mind
as the ground erodes
underfoot
unheard of 'til now
footfall on water
first snowdrops
a certain whiteness in
A Love Supreme
refracted through my third eye
the moon scents whisper
images strewn
across the underbelly
of experience
quietly dusk leaves
the fields wide open
Clayton Beach, Hansha Teki, and Johannes S. H. Bjerg