Measured Lives
The green time
of the green world
is not, has never
been, nor ever
will be
the red time
of the red world.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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My Favorite Graffiti
On the concrete wall of
a very small bridge over
the Tucson River is scrawled:
'Blow something up! '
Underneath it is written
'Forget yourself, and all
will go well.'
poem by David Kowalczyk
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Meditating Like Mencius
Seemingly mummified in
the huge bamboo chair
upon his veranda,
he stares at
the blazing orange sunset,
heart/mind focused perfectly,
until both he
and the sunset
disappear.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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The Strawberry Moon
will turn your
big Macs into chateaubriand
cockroaches into poodles
eyes into shooting stars
lips into roses
heart into the giant
Ghiardelli chocolate bar
it has always dreamed
of being
poem by David Kowalczyk
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The Square Root of Knowledge
Know ye now the fruits
of the Tree of Knowledge
of Good and Evil.
Illusionary good.
Imaginary evil.
Dreams poisoned by shame.
Hearts twisted by guilt.
Visions blinded and
voices muted.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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Pollock's 'Convergence' In The Eyes of Richard Milhous Nixon
Wicked
Exuberant
Syzygy
Opulent
Osmotic
Necromancy
Charming
Unfettered
Inspiration
Blasphemous
Pristine
Dynamite
Lush
Tempestuous
Solipsism
Divine
[...] Read more
poem by David Kowalczyk
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Father: A Winter Storm
I realized today
that winter would
not exist without
you, Father.
In a world where death
is confused with life,
your breath crystallizes
fear into snow.
Mounds and piles of snow.
Only when your breath
stops
will this snow ever cease.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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April Fools
Spring. A great yellow stain.
Forsythias burst and daffodils explode.
Swallows hurry back from Mexico
and are bitten by
the laughing snows of April.
Spring, the smile
of a ninety-year old man
who can't hear a thing you say
yet keeps talking to you nonetheless.
Spring and dreams
have that in common.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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The Ever-Diminishing Half-Life of Immortality
Being a famous author
certainly isn't
what it used to be.
In 1969, the term 'supernova'
best described Richard Brautigan.
In 1984, he was reduced to a twinkle
in the smog-choked sky.
In 2019, when the last remaining copy of
Trout Fishing in America is sold
for a quarter at a Friends of the Library sale
in Yakima, Washington
he will officially be designated
as a black hole.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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Father's Pants
Because the past five months
of chicken wings, television,
nostalgia, and stale beer
began splitting the seams of my
38 wwaists, inherited curses surfaced.
Father's lament, 'If it ain't one
thing, it's another! ' became mine,
as did his habit of slapping a frustrated
hand against the back of a neck bent
with defeat.
Staring at the threadbare denim
which covers my flesh and buries
my soul, I start to sweat.
poem by David Kowalczyk
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