DAVID LAWRENCE : Walking the Streets
AMANDA JOHNSTON : Miz Cassidy's Vision
KIM WELLIVER : He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages
POETRYREPAIRS v12.03:034
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Walking the Streets Miz Cassidy's Vision He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages  
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DAVID LAWRENCE
Walking the Streets
The day congeals into a gray sky studded with lightening chips. The streets fold into themselves and the shops fall On their picture windows. Bet you can't catch me with a song. I am deaf. I wander through Brooklyn like a phrase looking For a sentence. I forget about grammar and run into an unpunctuated Paragraph. I shoot a squirrel because I believe in pain When it isn't mine. When I broke your ribs in Atlantic City it felt good Like I was patting a bulldog. I cuddle up into your loss like a dog's sweater in winter.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.03:034
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
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Walking the Streets Miz Cassidy's Vision He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages  
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AMANDA JOHNSTON
Miz Cassidy's Vision 
(Attending the First Annual Bluegrass Writer's Conference) Would-be writers and poets enter the once was convent absent of nuns now full of history Lining the walls sunk deep between aged floorboards in creases of dusty curtain fabric is Miz Cassidy's Vision Confined to the matchbox of a kitchen LeAnna-dutifully prepares meals for Miz Cassidy's guests Delicately discarding unwanted brown crusts from dainty white bread chicken salad sandwiches her beautifully aged black hands pop with pride she don't need no help Accustomed to hard work and serving the white folks, LeAnna stays smiling while serving My appetite subsides a traitor cannot eat who am I to play the tom and waste a good Saturday frivolously writing But LeAnna smiles at me when Miz Cassidy is not hovering a Grandmother kind of grin proud of her accomplishments for the familiar stranger that is me My lineage has cut many sandwiches prepared many meals for the white folks served them up with smiles shielded from Miz Cassidy's vision they slaved to envision my being The sole black woman, unexpected, nevertheless present, eating Miz Cassidy's chicken salad sandwiches, coloring her vision, hugging the help and writing poetry with the other Southern Belles.
POETRYREPAIRS 12:03: 034
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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Walking the Streets Miz Cassidy's Vision He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

KIM WELLIVER
He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages
It is simply that his shoes are too tight. After pedaling through Innere Stadt, he makes his daily rounds, dazzled where St. Stephan's spines and spires sketch, friable royal icing, against the sky, where the sheer gold wash of light drenches Ringstrasse and the Danube's delft dream- pared skin of some sublime cerulean fruit, uncoils along the city, he feels gauche, a turnip pig corn rough. And his feet hurt. Idealized as an illustration from 1950, So clean he'd bleed if you cut any closer he proffers salvation, a loose-knuckled gawk, a farmboy with the Book of Mormon in leatherette and a slim volume of Austria's everyday phrases "This is my pencil. The bathroom is on the right. Where is the doctor?" "Wo ist der Arzt?" The latter will come in useful Because his digits, unfamiliar with the doctrine of missionary work unaware as most underlings are, of their importance in mass conversion, rebel. Lapped beneath the tongue corset-laced his big toe grows purple as a cabbage, fester sets in beneath a nail thick as an apple slice. His shoes are simply too tight So off he trundles, in his crisp shirt, salvation tucked in his pocket like a soiled hankie, to the Viennese doctor, herr, herr. As that medical man clicks his heels like some deluded Dorothy, unveiling bone saw and something akin, achtung! to surgical tin-snips, this little lamb is led. He will learn to scream in Austrian. Stumbling through indecipherable paper stubs, thumbing useless phrases of "The bakery is down the street" and "This room is fine." unable to find a phrase for horror, no words for shrieks of no. "Nein! Nein!" Foreign reassurance spills into his cochlear canal; a parody of Mozart. It is only after, dazed and hobbled that he understands the sacrifice religion demands. He searches for the spiritual significance of tight shoes. He shuffles through Vienna, Austria's tender jewel, bright shining city blind to its cathedrals, and the gleaming Danube. Instead he finds communal ruck, his fellow man lopsided, lurching glass-eyed, up Strauss streets, bits and pieces whittled away, pared into stump-legged, peg-footed, fingerless manikins. He no longer eats Vienna sausages.
POETRYREPAIRS 12:03: 034
DAVID LAWRENCE : Walking the Streets
AMANDA JOHNSTON : Miz Cassidy's Vision
KIM WELLIVER : He No Longer Eats Vienna Sausages

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