PoetryRepairShop 06.02:023

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poetryrepairshop 06.02:023

MARYANN HAZEN-STERNS Tenth Avenue Whistle
They call me Mystic Sister of Glory Eyed Wonder. I exhale pewter breath with the terrible violence of a single falling flake of snow. I blink torpid eyes your way. The line forms here. Dame of Sesame Flesh. I shrug shoulders carved from hashish. I fling a wreath of bleeding roses at your blistered feet. You flinch in the very marrow of dawn. Come and get it. My russet bones blaze upon the pavement in your eyes. Charcoal stars float to ground and peter out like you dude. Cha cha cha. I pick the pink carcass of your mind, lick your lips dry. I'm rotting you slowly. You know where I am. The winds of 10th Avenue whistle through the skeleton of your spirit - Toot your flute suit. Oh how you scream and cough up the money and man oh man, it's so exquisitely intimate.

Copyright 2006, all rights revert to the poet.
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poetryrepairshop 06.02:023
GIL SAENZ Dream Journey
Wandering through his unusual odyssey, He finally arrived at a different shore In the shadow of time, And bending with the wind. Exotic and nearly bizarre, Many of his experiences had been Like pieces of a dream. Searching for the gifts of the angels, And exploring in the sea of tranquility, Passion, romance, and music Had all been within his grasp. Instead while spinning the dream, He had finally come to enjoy The simple music of nature, And how beautiful Is the park in the city.

Copyright 2006, all rights revert to the poet. _