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My
Take on the Usual
Heterosexual Lie
—for O.
After she and I settled what it took
to more than coexist
or feign star-crossed physical bliss
we strolled down to the end of pier
to suppose the ocean.
We felt neither symbol nor token
could slow us now,
could douse the erotic or uncurl our toes
when the unspoken showed.
But what did we know about ask?
“Is this what they mean” she said later
when they declare ‘a natural disaster’,
bearing in mind the hurricane or fire has passed
and someone is finally back in control of after?”
Not Too Many
Miles From
The Dali Museum
—for Peter S.
speed ripping up the course
faster and faster,
till the future is a lower gear,
curving, drifting, you
know the way the rear swings out,
sexual, technical, tactile.
jargon turning
the jostled wheel,
stealing epiphany,
the multiple viral cold
stripping veneers,
the call on hold,
what will be aesthetic
later against signage.
radio tower’s red light,
such solo as acoustic
scent, tickling, licking,
prickly where event horizon
goes visually off track
as if modernism skips
the schism.
then causeway under
those late afternoon
showers, the lost
avant-garde decamped
where pink might
co-exist with new
ontology or the nervous
ecstasy of ongoing
amnesia or decision.
Alice
in November
Heartbeat tuned to gap,
she walks crisscrossed,
away from the unknown,
sheds shadows from the disorder of
her broader issues.
Inscribed hopscotch squares
on wind whisked sidewalks,
merge into what her reverie
seeks from outside.
Sparked, incarnate love,
expounds the queer silence of nearly.
She fashions her pigtails from pure rhyme.
Her sparse entwinements fix
enraptured vows that clearly mean
no good-bye today.
Chalk color augers solution
to what her autumn might task
Temperature drops as it will
till her thrill abates till she asks:
What to drop till it can be picked-up?
What to hide as the leaves fall?
She considers what is enough
as the befriended sun sweeps down early
on the off the cuff, unsteady balance
of a fade that’s yet to come,
though she wonders what was ever there?
What would be here if she were not her name?
Poems
© Ian Krieger 2004. All rights reserved.
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Ian
Krieger is a member of the Jack Benny International Fan Club,
the Museum of Jurassic
Technology and the founder emeritus of The Eternal
Recurrence of 1957 Movement, Southern California Chapter.
He is also a poet. In fact, the pursuit of art/poetry has always
been central to his life and is the core of his ongoing
adventures. The results have appeared in Descant, Telephone,
Rolling Stone and in two chapbooks, Pavans, (Ommation
Press) and An Unnamed Aesthetic, (Stolen Images Press).
This is his first Internet submission and publication. He loves
finely printed magazines, but feels the Internet captures "the
evanescence of the small press world", while search engines
provide opportunities for readers to access the work of poets
they find interesting. He's on a metaphysical journey that's
currently taking him through South Florida. But sometimes, he
feels like a Chinese poet in exile.
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Portrait
of Ian Krieger © Henry Denander 2004. All rights reserved.
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Poetry
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