New York Tyrant

Two Poems
by Jon-Michael Frank

Kelly Schirmann

I

there’s a crude bloom to the pear trees

I feel guilty about not being

a loud pee humming from the next stall

I don’t think the unknown will fix me

but I know these rinds of july won’t   

a dog licking at the air in a cone

the sun is boring when you’re not in love

with something terrible

it gives me a furry spasm

as she ages her tattoo heart will become a lump

I waste another life

languishing behind the berry bushes

ocean of brightly dead sorrow

there’s nobody living in the mountains

when something reminds me of how I feel

I love it immediately

 

II

all my life I’ve been using the wrong language

blackberries spewing juice

on the patio furniture

the gorge is all longing today

bastard animals masticating

soda cans

a geode contaminates my heart

down the street

machines starve the succulents  

men in robes

crush bug eggs

we know a lot of what’s over

even as we dim in the cradle of it

I’m not in my life

when I’m in a picture

I miss the moon

even as it hangs there 


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