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Waiting for Never (The Unspoken Word)

I propose this chilly morning to the world
Itself awaiting a duh flash spilt tongue lift
From and over the cloud suture and astral
Bludgeon with pigeon slowly
Dusting powdery snow of never
Quite spring the Bowery and people walking
Past the door they are invited into
Calm betrayal of blue caution how
To challenge everyday stupidity of knock?
Go in, my dear Friend, how friendship
Covers the moment grave gravy I crave
Potential even as the salty rock diamond
Stalactite drips efficiency into the troll’s mug
Bard soap and melt the hair
Retrieve all hope that rocks out the tear
And then they would respond, all
One of them via ventricle the cerebral-spinal
Ocean speaks to the shore and the river craves
The rafter to the soldier and her kin a reminder
Of uniform plaid crazed blue stain barbering
The remainder with keener resplendence
As the tough went and the leaner surrenders
All over the floor, dancing swans and minstrels
Affiliate of the sore spore’s delight to restore
Capturing the glance moment’s pleasure in
Significant disarray for never and a day off
Just to wish a happening birthday man the relish
Of forgetfulness and the king of dome under sun
Meshing alluvial restraint to the mitred velocity
A hand appears to float around like a magic trick
Without the magician and the church sprouts
Up like a cornstalk silk and one wink fractures
The morningside domain’s dominion of predominant
Dominoes and prevailing veils waiting the pun
To vanish the child into the man the woman
The ages suit up and rashly billow a fragrance
All too balmy and proficient

  Bob Holman __

The Super Image

Obliterating the subtle text a blot of ink from Godsquid
Bottom of page a footnote pounds brute beat
Meaning willow with a small stone that reads
“Here Lies Lies”

The Soul is convinced there’s no such thing as soul

The turtles need convincing
They keep wandering offffff
With very important jails

At the bottom of the page a lame flamenco’s jump-up
Even though nobody comes
Everybody’s seen it
Even though the subtitles are retranslated
On a daily basis by a poet who actually has a paying job
Making these new poems so trenchant running
Across the bottom of the screen
Atop the opera conducted by electric rain

        Bob Holman __


       Why I Never Turn Around
            —After Po Chu-I’s “Song of the P’I-P’a”

       You were inside the boat.
       I was on the shore.
       We raised glasses –
       No music? That’s music!
       Hey! Drink, sing –
       Dancing music, drinking song!
       And then the blurring river
       Soaked the moon.
       Separation. What a way to go—
       The unspoken word. 

               Bob Holman __

Letter to Elizabeth

The days go by like wild horses. How are you?

I just broke through the chakra membrane and called your phone thinking well maybe that's a way to break the chakra membrane and hear your voice, hello?—

I have always thought you one of the most stunningly beautiful women I've ever met. Took a lot of work to get that confession out of me.

Your smile encompasses, that's what I like, to be part of that.

After my father died we moved to Cincinnati from Pineville to be closer to the Grandparents. We lived in a little housing development. I got in trouble. A horse reared at me. There were horses in Cincinnati then.

My candy bars melted and I was stung by wasps. I broke a robin's egg in the nest and I was buried alive by friends. Like that.

I cut my brother's hair with pinking shears.

Then my mother remarried a Nixon clone and my life went into cold storage till I moved to New York at 18. I went to Columbia, now I teach there so, effectively, I have become the guy I used to laugh at.

Then the moth flew in your direction, under your wrist, morphed into a bracelet, over your wrist.

Big Boy in our town was Frisch's. The best burgers I have ever had. Every year the Ohio flooded and we got Flood Break. I got in more trouble.

Will write the poem while I wait for your response.

        Bob Holman __


I Thought

You would answer

        Bob Holman __



              Winds born here make this place
              Softer touch than vision
              The unspoken word

        Bob Holman __