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  • Ryuichi’s got a cot in his trunk
    He’ll unfold it in a field by the lake
    and line it with fresh linens,
    That's where he’ll wait
    for the stars to arrive.

    And they do:

    As the day’s enamel fades, they arrive,
    At first, soft and uncertain, one by one,
    then - like some sudden symphony - they fill the night sky
    with the glimmering turns of their metaled songs.

    Behind the stars (something in Ryuichi whispers with delight) are more stars!
  • After arriving home from a day’s work,
    Jack looks at his building and has nothing to say.
    There is something of its rebar in him;
    He notices it as a deep chill when the wind blows.

    He thinks of those dark film scores:
    a piano, a trumpet,
    spacious and lonely,
    Vibrations lost
    in the waves of scuttling city lights.
    Ache and you can close your eyes;
    You can let the pain lose its self-importance
    though the pain stays still on.

    There are those that huddle around a flame
    And those that makes wishes to the filaments of a glass bulb,
    Which one, he wonders, am I?

    In morning’s daylight, though,
    his retinas will burn with so many simultaneous glories
    that it will take a day’s worth of tears to cool them again
  • Huy supposes the ocean floor
    Looks pretty much like the bottom of an aquarium:

    Feathered fish float through swaying seaweed,
    In a clearing in the coral
    A peg-legged skeleton
    steps forever in limp and slow jitters
    toward an overflowing treasure chest,
    While all around,
    lazy clams –opening and closing for no particular reason -
    blow steady streams of drifting bubbles.

    And think of the pretty colors, he thinks,
    And Huy sighs because
    isn't it true that the depths in all their dark moods
    never let the pretty colors show:
    those coral-reds
    flaming like lipstick,
    those slick shark skin blues,
    the eel’s electric iridescence, the clown’s oranges,
    and the cotton-candy pinks of the jellyfishes’ ooze.

    But the depths answer back, Where’s the mystery
    in a drained and empty fish tank?
    Gone.
  • Joan says, Hail down in a song of slaps,
    Let the mushrooms pickle the root,
    I’ve got three pairs of dice, all weighted to snake eyes.

    Joan says, I’ve said it simply so many times,
    this time, let’s complicate the explanation phonetically,
    Let’s cripple the sails and sink the ship.

    Joan was smiling at ten in the morning yesterday
    And modeling torn raincoats,
    Today she’s laughing fallen roofs.
  • He has taken to the throne that makes all men equal.
    A plane overhead and out of sight rumbles on its way - farther and farther away-
    Until its sound becomes a speck, a pencil point, and then disappears.

    The sky for a moment became a bell,
    A bell that had been struck and rang thunder
    until the shock of the strike stilled
    And now all that's left is a thin white trail and blue silence.

    At least, this is how he pictures it
    From his spot on the throne that makes all men equal.
  • Drawings & Poems by Shane






    with special thanks to Katie Brown of The Mickey Mouse Death Cult.
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