Words
Gleti, After Al-Gharra
I am the siren that beached mariners everywhere,
the daughter of waves and of memory. -
The one who coaxed Samson out of his power.
The last...
While Your Parents Danced
in the next room, their heels
skimming over dark oak
to Sinatra and Como and Bennett
crooning from the dusty stereo,
we lay in your small bed, sheets
thrown...
Taking a Short-cut on a Dead-end
You know...
I’ve been dying, more than I’ve been living
I’ve been making more than I’ve been giving
You’re telling me I’ve been forgiven, what am I...
soon to depart
a summer wind and softly, now, the whisper of falland these shadows, like snakes they creep down my wall
and the sun, swiftly his chariot borne through the...
kindled, a fire no more to burn
and i can not be,
here, not tonight,
a dying vine,
these memories
twisted backward, embers of a life
retreating back to the earth
with thoughts, evolved
to die
an ego, regressed,...
It’s Not Too Late
Walking around the lake this afternoon,
something about the cottonwood leaves, strewn
along the shore, and how the colors glowed,
and the reflections in the water slowed
me...
Bukowski, again
oh holy poetic
father
your long skinny soul
scrawled across the backs
of thousands of naked spines
and how each drop
of battery acid
dripped from the dots
in the eyes
and the...
December 31st, America
Get dressed to go shopping to buy more
Things to wear to get dressed to go shopping
For more things on sale to wear only once
Before...
Small Window
I
discern
a
tiny
space
in
one
of
fifteen
minutes;
two
days
later,
I
deduce
which
one,
approach
it
and
peer
inside
(can’t
tell
whether
it’s
bright
or
dark),
hoping
to
glimpse
a
poem —
or
the
closest
edge
of
one.
Jethro McClellan was born in Boston, moved out West before he turned five, and has called Boulder home for most of his life....
