One of my poems “Belly of the Whale” is now available in print at Poetry Quarterly’s summer issue.
The poem is dedicated to a Glens Falls based artist/ friend Matt Daly.
“Belly of the whale”
And the sycamores keep further away.
I have been nowhere,
Yet these omen-faced fields
Turned slightly against me.
Was it them squirming at dawn?
Following them are white sheets,
Perfectly ironed and crucified.
You say I’m as a cold as the mountains.
I do not believe this.
You ask something about the amphibian man,
Does he keep his teeth in a jar?
He shrunk like a dwarf in Long Island,
It is way too far off for me to even care.
I see us moving diagonally,
You laugh, and
The mouthful of dandelions are quiete red.
They set off the car engine.
I blame no one but these promising Adirondacks.
Though this is not home ,
The forest keeps us inseparable.
White , and stupendous ,
I do not need the safety of walls.
They cage in on my freedom.
Besides, I do not care for the epics,
The dead Ten Commandments,
Or Ulysses S. Grant.
I’ve ghosts of my own-
A 23 year old brother surviving off paint.
He is only a half-corpse.
4 weeks since I’ve seen him.
And I’m as mute as gardenias.
You and I ,
We need nothing at all.
Just the smoke ,
And the torn up newspapers,
They are there, in the belly of the whale.
We all know the true test of awesomeness comes down to three skills: Running, throwing and fighting. Doing any of these activities while appearing to be female is cause for mocking, according to all-star world champion experts in those divisions, AKA, boys.