Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #5                        Page 14
                                   
Table of
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Poetry Reading at Chumley's

I can't
remember
a single line
she read

only
that
the poet
she came with
leaned over

& whispered
as
   she
      started
         to
            rise
            that
         her
      fly
   was
down

they must
have been
pretty
close

  Vince Corvaia


45

I drank my poems
from pleated cups
I wiped my mouth
with a white flag
I painted
happy little trees
until I saw the forest
was the issue
our own
blighted forest
is
the issue

now the avenues
are writhing
swelling
through the barricades clearly
something
    is very
    wrong
&I confess
my confessional poetry
confesses nothing
of interest
to fascists

the avenues are
writhing and breaking
the margins
of these pages
magma roiling
into the furious night

someone hands me
a sign
I haven't written
& I become we
I take my place
among strangers
in a country
growing stranger still
& we are all
nothing of interest
to fascists
we are all
nothing of interest
to fascists

yet


  Vince Corvaia__
Poem

the sky is scribbled
with contrails

I think of Hemingway
who said
      write drunk
      edit sober
my parents
who said
      things cost money
when I trashed
a coloring book
after breaking
the promise of a line
&
an ex
pale      remarried
who would have
looked up
& said
      see how the wind
      slurs them into feathers


  Vince Corvaia__

Autobiography

I tore the wrapping
off a stick
when I turned 6

& Danny Vancheri’s
mother cried
    it was a kite

which pretty much
ruined the party


  Vince Corvaia__

Destination
©Bob Heman: Destination (detail 1)