poetryrepairs #205 14.10:115
VERNON WARING : The Mice ion McKinley Street
VALERIE DEATON : To Kiss the Earth
JOHN HORVATH Jr : After Life
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The Mice ion McKinley Street
the mice on mckinley street peter hated the house on mckinley street in his eight-year-old brain it was a hot mess since his parents moved there all he heard was yelling and screaming his mother was always complaining about the small rooms, the lousy closet space, the faulty plumbing, the leaky roof and the mice they were everywhere - in closets, in pantries, in drawers, behind the heater, under the radiators they were in nooks and crannies, behind the refrigerator, in the laundry room, even in the crawl space they were almost always in hiding, rarely seen in daytime except when they were found dead in a trap - also a rarity traps were set methodically, enticing hors d'oeuvres were created laced with cheese and peanut butter but still nothing worked his mother would religiously check the traps every morning and every time she'd mutter "those little fucking bastards!" the sly moves of mice to avoid the guillotine snap of a mousetrap as they nibbled around a flap of cheese amazed everyone besides traps his parents bought sticky cheese pads where the tiny monsters would get their heads and bodies stuck permanently one time peter observed a black mouse lying - and dying - on a cheese pad...he pushed a second pad over its face "i suffocated the little shit!" he exclaimed and when he told his parents they bought him a gift card from the lego store but every now and then one of the lilliputian invaders would make a live unscheduled appearance one october when the nights began to get colder his mother saw a gray mouse climb up a cord leading to the microwave she almost had a heart attack right there on the spot and there was the time his father was looking in the refrigerator and he heard a strange scratchy noise behind him and sensed a sudden descent: a baby mouse had scurried off a shelf and fell into a small trash can just a few feet from him he picked up the can and hurled it out the back door ultimately the parents decided to move to a swanky apartment house and the night before peter had his last "mouse dream" it featured a giant white mouse's head that was the size of  a billboard so big so menacing it scared him awake finally he fell back into a gentle state of dreamless slumber... and when he woke up his parents were taking down pictures he looked out his window and saw a moving van pull up and for the first time in a long time he was happy

poetryrepairs #205 14.10:115

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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To Kiss the Earth
The moon sings the mountain down to the sea as the sun wraps itself around the horizon. Air runs like a hand lightly across the body. Voices pirouette like echoes in a braid of flowing tongues. We trace the flicker of dragonflies skimming the water, their imprint light as ash. We hold fruit with its sweet flesh, sac of seeds, silky membrane fitting the palm perfectly. And it is time to kiss the earth and count freshly painted stars running ocean ward. Here where there is only stillness, my love I wish upon you these delights the lotus moon still blooming as we exchange liquid looks as dark as antique honey time, calm and airy and, oh, to wake up naked in the garden and fall in love again, easily, so easily.

poetryrepairs #205 14.10:115

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Dust thou art
After the party you and I had last night your Uncle Bob and my cousin Bett are cuddled in a corner; across from them, Angel Lopex, who I do not know, has kissed a young girl, Tikisha Blackburn, who ran away from home to be with him. They have become close and are exploring each other's details, the wind and weave of their guts now almost inseparable. Others couples have met under our bed, and I have no courage to sweep them away. How can you ask me to separate lovers after they've met in paradise.

poetryrepairs #205 14.10:115

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.


VERNON WARING : The Mice ion McKinley Street
VALERIE DEATON : To Kiss the Earth
JOHN HORVATH Jr : After Life

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