By: Jason Visconti

A Confusion Of Streetlights

Houdini leaves his trick puzzling at the cross,
The merry-go-round of light has found a wheel,
A stray wheel jerked through miles tended to or lost,
Red and green soldiers who’ve strayed from their field,
The players of this theater a scriptless cast.

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The Yard Is No Longer There

What’s left is one coiling of iron,
Barbwire nagging at your eyes,

The clouds struggle for shapes like unprepared mimes,

The sunset but a meltdown of youthful times,

A ball sweeps through a hoop with the sense of sand.

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What The Proverb Writer Must Know

To climb up a tree is to slash a stroke of ink,
To shake out its leaves is to lose a line,

The tree falls and you may be on meaning’s brink,

Dead in the forest is how it’s signed,
A giant carcass has its own sad ring.

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Because The Murderer Loves Rainbows

Because the murderer loves rainbows a strand of color bleeds,
Because he is pleased by clouds his rifle-arm drifts,
Because he worships the moon his solitude is fed,
Because he questions the stars his alibis shift,
The sunset and he camp in exquisite arrest.

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Judgement

When the God has printed out the final questionare,
When the angels right me like a misplayed chord,
When the moon is comprehended for why it stood,
I know why I’m not a flower somewhere out there,
Even when budding-season gives up its buds.