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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 64

SPECTRAL FACADE

One man’s “purposeful doggerel” is another’s “Zen-like beads.”
The sorcerer’s housekeeper was stuck with a resentful ghost.
There’s no ignoring or getting around the endless need.

A bunch of bourgeois houseflies running away from the swatter.
What the xylophone said was, “I wish I was a vibraphone.”
It’s very difficult to get the spilled milk off the blotter.

Not too much farther and we’ll be there, or somewhere
Like there. In the meantime look after the horses.
Leave the walking to us, while you take the subway to nowhere.

To lose by one month’s frost 20 years of conquest.
Haunting the dank basement, a ghost
Writing about ghosts. “But isn’t that nonsense?”

Cornelius Dillhopper had a wheelbarrow full of disappointments.
He couldn’t figure out which end was up or where the time seemed to go.
He went looking for absolution but found only ointment.

For better or worse you couldn’t get much further out on your limb.
If you can’t navigate the narrows you can follow the coast.
Even Napoleon’s enemies emulated him; some even wore their hair like him.

He admitted defeat, I admitted defeat. It wasn’t very far away.
Other than the Salvation Army, all he found was day-old toast.
And after what he said, there wasn’t much left to say.

Just when it seemed time to start again, it was time to stop.
There wasn’t really anything wrong—it was a savory meat loaf,
A good meal to distract you while waiting for the ineffable to speak up.

What’s that sound? Is it square or round? In six or eight? Two or three?
Are you in need of a seeing-eye dog? Dumb as a post?
You can fool some of the people all of the time, but you can’t fool me.

  Ian Ganassi