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Thomas Fink

 

 

HORIZON ZEBRA OFFER                      

 

      bandaged tent. Phantoms form lanterns.

    Shape of

   hoping

  finds you

  stunt

  crooned.

   But sea  

    humming

      fingers to repair thought. Cowlick echoes

                                                 should some-

                                                   times open

                                                       ordinary

                                                    illumination

                                                        nightlong

                                                             over

                                                          bickering 

                                                          legs. This

                                                           compass

                                                           tastes like

                                                           luck. Dust

                                                         has posed

                                                          for picar-

                                                         esque or

                                                          puritan

                                                           Picasso.

                                                            Florida

                                                             under-

                                                                neath?

 

 

 


 

MAYAN HAY(NA)KUS                          

 

    1

 

I:

id as

sod for red

bell game. Ball work.

 

 

    2

 

O

is an

eye? Sun. Pun.

 

 

   3

 

A

do on

the run. Oil.

Rain rant, snow muss.

 

 

    4

 

I

am, an

aim. Arm and

 

 

    5

 

A,

an. No

the. Was one.

 

 

   

 

   6

 

I

am, to

(and for?) you

cure? Nyet: ears, cars.

 

 

    7

 

X,

be ax

for his has-

been beak-ache onus.

 

 

    8

 

I

on me:

who has its

will? Will take mine?

 

 

 

  [Note: The Hay(na)ku was invented by Filipina-American poet Eileen R. Tabios.  The Mayan Hay(na)ku is a variation invented by Maya Mason Fink.]

 

 

 

 

                                BULL MERCY SPIRAL OF                   

 

                                              nation notion:

                                                 glow ball vice

                                                    presides.

                                             Thought freeze:

                                    throng ruin. From the

                                 dad of our foundling,

                           mean moan. Labor at

                       our breast must

          abandon the equal. This second

        lathering, across the genie, proper                

  varmint prospers                      long.  Ermine                  

stain reaffirming                             a yesterday

 when our rinds                            were fierce.

    Lint on members                   He owns a

       pope concession. Few venerations

            advance credit. Welding debt

                         to worn wit, crown

                                oaf pisses

                                    expansion.

                                      “And I will

                                        strike to heal.”

                                          Grunts wheels

                                                  of inevitable.

                                      No cue to void inflated limit.            

                                 Rice will not impose. Retirement                    

                             shavings. Torn            weave together—                     

                              a bum hinge.               We will deafen

                               ourselves.                   By clicking a  

                                 succulent               correlation,

                                   will you requite the descent

                                    tree? Exile sees you. Am

                                                vital: inter.                        

                                                    Vehement

                                                  feathers

                                                        require

                                              detergent choir.

                                            What school

                                 builds an owner?

 

Poems on this page © Thomas Fink 2005-2006

 



Thomas Fink, Professor of English at City University of New York--LaGuardia, is the author of three books of poetry, including AFTER TAXES (Marsh Hawk, 2004), and two books of criticism.  His paintings hang in various collections.  His work has recently appeared in Verse, Talisman, Shampoo, Chicago Review, and Jacket.

 


 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 



















 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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