Volume 16 ~ Spring 2004 ~ ISSN 1543-6063

KAREN WEISER

In the department store 
of my yearly atonement

little mannequins of apology turn
shop windows of water empty of view
still with confinement, positioned 

through the smokescreen—
            pure shape
            honest purchase: mirror
            as airshaft breathes
            city dressed up in disaster—

attach sound to the lining
of the book of life. Line up
animals by windows to watch

home and dream collide
drift of architecture to breakfast in

a year to be bartered—
            pebbles of mistake
            where you left them—glass colors
            worn smooth by the
            oceanic pressure of your hand

Dread #1

Dread the Sunday shadow
falls out of the fan the
petals bend like tiny pipes
around my organs located
inside this bracing shape inside
a braced structure on the street of
an unstructured plagiarism,
this city is an invisible
don’t touch, not nice
inside of it a visit brings
a dreadful touch on the inner
structures, organs, magic
slogans burnt into the heart
don’t touch, not nice
what is this propelling
forward from the endless
elevated forms as surprising
as corn in the backyard,
high-risk sex, the space
between shores is felt
in terms of crossing it
through organs do you
experience tremors? have
a history?

Poems © Karen Weiser 2004. All rights reserved.

Duncan Hannah
www.jamesgrahamandsons.com

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