VERNON WARING : death in old movies
JANET I. BUCK : Lonely Memos
JOHN AMEN : After Passing
POETRYREPAIRS v12.06:068
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death in old movies Lonely Memos After Passing  
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VERNON WARING
death in old movies
death in old movies is violins straining lights playing on the heroine's face her eyes misty with suffering the hero caressing her frail hand suddenly her hand falls on the chenille bedspread her face still against an ivory pillow quickly the hero his lady the room lights colors music screen theater people you me fade out
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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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death in old movies Lonely Memos After Passing  
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JANET I. BUCK
Lonely Memos
Fitness center, nursing home, side by side like Siamese twins in worry's womb. The quiet club of aging's bones. I signed my name, turned my head, prepared to lift a room of weights, swim my laps in the green glass lake of an empty pool. Solitude, a peaceful hum because I had a home and husband waiting there. Two EMTs pushing a gurney out wide and waxen parted lips of automatic doors and smiles. On it sat a waving man; they fanned his moot delirium. "There she is!" he squawked like roosters near insipid blade: "My little girl! I knew she'd come!" This stranger leaning on my flesh as heartily as trees drink water through their roots. I walked beside the rolling bed and out into the falling rain. Freeze was just a pressure sore brewing near an open wound. His fingers in my sweaty palm - steam from kettles on a stove. Knuckles like a wrinkled carrot looking for its rabbit's foot. My hand was just a memo pad for scribbling his loneliness. On the edge of the cliff of time seemed a good place to brew a small pot of lies.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 068
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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death in old movies Lonely Memos After Passing  
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JOHN AMEN
After Passing
He went to a topless bar where dancers were wounded and men sat silently like students in a Victorian classroom. The television blared in the background, live coverage of the deployment. His attention was torn between women moving lithely at first, then, as their arteries drained, collapsing in pale crescendo; and the grim images on the screen, craters forming in the branded earth. No one wanted to be where he was or had anywhere else to go. The bouncers were as thick as safes, as inscrutable as iguanas. As he reached to put a twenty in the g-string of an autistic co-ed, the first plane crashed in the parking lot. Nobody moved, the music continued playing, some Bob Seger song, then ZZ Top, and slowly they settled in, men and dancers alike, everyone bleeding, scared to speak, quietly relieved, that this might be the reprieve they were looking for.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 068
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VERNON WARING : death in old movies
JANET I. BUCK : Lonely Memos
JOHN AMEN : After Passing

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