CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS

another dead cow

sometimes in this 
sunken village 
a gunshot bounces 
off the forearm 
hip, of surrounding 
mountains 

I'll think of 
wild dogs or 
a bloated cow 
rigid in a red ditch 
matted hair 
yellow grasses 
icy wind 

but lately 
I've thought of you 
tight flesh over 
expanded seed 
balanced on the edge 
of a black crevasse

copyright 2003 CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS

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CHELLE MIKO

Brown-Bagged Religion

A nurse pressed his jeans into one; she knew better 
than to burn Lennon's anything. 

We've labeled his blood-
splattered end, guarded his signature

spectacles, taken it all in. Report cards: does well
if he applies himself. Sketches: he and Yoko 

swirled into an O. Pencil-scratched lyrics blown up 
& bottled for viewing--his is an endless wake,

and a white phone's perpetual ring: Yoko has more time
to lose. She wants to know if we believe in anything.

And so this is Christmas...and what have you done?
Isn't it enough (someone ought to say) 

that we've preserved him, that we've imagined 
his fall, that we've kept him 

naked and faceless and fetal, 
on a bed framed by pews?

copyright 2003 CHELLE MIKO

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