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Grandmother
Paused near the gate
She squints upward at the gathering clouds
Feeling that tired ache
Of changing weather
Measuring the dullness in the skies
Her monochrome countenance
Reflects the severity of decades passed
Since this memory
Of one
Who splashed in the puddies
Dancing
through the rain
'TTkere is rso VMir\4ow>
Pkers is rvo fTiirror
Some peopje sa»y
Ike mirror reflects
-
my feelings,
my Ikougkls, my keart»
my soul.
T'ke mirror reflects only
wkat kskow,;-ih>,
It skows only
¿Jen
kat 1 kave
, tke outsiJe. It
ill r^ever ke akle to
fleet my inner self.
Some people say my eyes are
tke windows to «Vy soul.
"T'key are wrong.
fPy eyes skow to me wkat
is outsiJe otkers. ’T'key 4o
no I" skow wkat is ir>si4® me.
"T'ke only Iking tkeyseein
The Mad Matters
my eyes is tkeir
owa
reflection.
Jarred from lustful thought,
the beeper rings round and round
the daisy patch.
Motor gears of birth; hackle, clack inside.
Joey is thin-framed, from eyes to toes,
flowing along the sheepskin shores of the couch,
he is thick with the accent from the city, ,
thick with smog and dirt,
many motorists have evaded his dirty rotten path,
Jewish Protestants sing oh the phone,
the dial tone clearing them out.
Come Christians, come home, none of this matters,
only the mad matters.
Throwing boxes and Shelves into the blazing, black fire,
destroying the pfione, punching, biting—holmSfeyou down, holding
your tongu^F spitting on your nose.
v|k
Wait right there, while I kiss you goodbye for the last time.
No fancy rhymes, or rhythms to keep you dancing. No tomorrow plans.
The cigarette grenades, the misted morning arena,
fresh aii in hock for post-apocalyptic pneumonia.
Cauglt and bought, then sold.
Cold, damn river of q|ment,
rock bottom of toxic lefuge. Fuck the city and its rug hcB.
Bring me down, and stop that torrid spinning.
Jg
Stop that grinding noise. I’ve written every word I know, and
nothing is complete.
I can hear the hinges in yo^rle^, and die cracking oi^our smile,
roll over and die, so I don’t have to marry you.
Please sister/n^mecolr patron . - -
'’
please suck solace in another bed
another job another task,
where the carpet is clean and the bed isnTblood splotched.
Retire from this madness.
Only the mad matters, don’t you see?
You can come knocking any time, but who’ll decide who’s home?
Spoonfuls of dreadful flour-based cooking crumple my taste,
smashing the table over your head, sleeping over you,
to rush to the bathroom,
climbing, climaxing to catch AIDS,
hastily exiting through the window,
many floors up and many floors down.
Christopher Haberman
I know wkat otkers kave yet to
discover - tkere is no mirror —
my soul, tkere is only my soul
right wing march
walk with your eyes closed
even crossing the street
ilk with your eyes closed
and you’ll never be beat
talk with your mouth closed
if the talk’s too person^
talk with your mouth closed
don’t risk telling all
walk with your eyes closed
and with a clenched tist
alk with your eyes closed
so they won’t get pissed
think with your mind closed
11 never make waves
Matt Russel