The next open mic will be Thursday the 1st of November.......
201 S. Division Street, Peekskill, NY 10566
Bean Runner Cafe
Self-Made Man
be still and know that you are loved
unlike any other
the trees, joining branches over the
road, make a canopy of green leaves
for her to walk beneath
detritus placed out on the curb
for the trashman--Wednesday is
collection day, black bags bulging, larval
in them,
oddments--an alphabet soup of letters, some
errant organs still wrapped in sterile plastic, a
kidney here, a heart there, two eyes (the better
to see you with, my dear, as the old wolf said)
she assembles a whole in half the
time it takes her to walk to Bronxville, the
original reconstituted man, add water and
stir briskly, with your smile lipsticked on
expert, so, at making something from
nothing
looping great strands of DNA around
her fingers, fashioning this self-made
man, the codes catching in her
nails
she'll teach him to talk, too,
a word at a time, til they
totter in a tower of Babel, together,
embracing his newness in her
arms, him, slick against her in
an August thunderstorm,
fleshy, this man of remnants, who,
new-born, looks upon her, pale-eyed,
learns love like an old repetition
of sums sung out from a window
collection day, black bags bulging, larval
in them,
oddments--an alphabet soup of letters, some
errant organs still wrapped in sterile plastic, a
kidney here, a heart there, two eyes (the better
to see you with, my dear, as the old wolf said)
she assembles a whole in half the
time it takes her to walk to Bronxville, the
original reconstituted man, add water and
stir briskly, with your smile lipsticked on
expert, so, at making something from
nothing
looping great strands of DNA around
her fingers, fashioning this self-made
man, the codes catching in her
nails
she'll teach him to talk, too,
a word at a time, til they
totter in a tower of Babel, together,
embracing his newness in her
arms, him, slick against her in
an August thunderstorm,
fleshy, this man of remnants, who,
new-born, looks upon her, pale-eyed,
learns love like an old repetition
of sums sung out from a window
Scarecrows
they crop up, this time of year, on
lawns untroubled by tubers or the
like, pale vestiges of their former,
workaday selves, clad in old clothes
and caps, to scare off the crows....
now, the mass-produced grins mirror
each other, staked in similar clipped
they crop up, this time of year, on
lawns untroubled by tubers or the
like, pale vestiges of their former,
workaday selves, clad in old clothes
and caps, to scare off the crows....
now, the mass-produced grins mirror
each other, staked in similar clipped
suburban lawns, reduced to the
decorative, the false pleat, the
row of buttons designed to catch the eye
crows are nonplussed by such fellows,
storebought, their tags still attached
as they are staked into the ground, a
xerographic, sixth-generation copy of their
sterner cousins, trousers cut to
ribbons in the wind, their aspect
fearsome, clad, as they were, in
the clothes of the dead, the tattered
remnants of a Sunday suit, worn
shiny, cuffs and collar frayed
and crows and candy-gorging goblins alike,
pass them by, unseeing, unafraid
decorative, the false pleat, the
row of buttons designed to catch the eye
crows are nonplussed by such fellows,
storebought, their tags still attached
as they are staked into the ground, a
xerographic, sixth-generation copy of their
sterner cousins, trousers cut to
ribbons in the wind, their aspect
fearsome, clad, as they were, in
the clothes of the dead, the tattered
remnants of a Sunday suit, worn
shiny, cuffs and collar frayed
and crows and candy-gorging goblins alike,
pass them by, unseeing, unafraid
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