Stephen Kirbach
2 Poems
shade
that horseplay that foolingaround I grab stranger
Cain grapple flaunt that
weed clamp that beef pack
meat food peculiar heap
practice way most either
those who gobble divvy
it prefer to leave the job
to another inkle fry it Abel
lest upside yo head
scramble banish choke
hold fallow get busted
Sodden and lean
pretender on the edge
of a phony
planet,
but never
so much as when at
the ocean, I watch
it rise
up out of the west,
emerging
from the depth
of an indent
horizon, surf
pressing the grey
sand, the dark face
of a furious
wind strumming the tight
wired dawn, and
breathe,
thereby, an
ether
narcotic precipitate.