Stan Rogal

on

 

ou li po

 

dear ou li po : it is dark within us as it snows in the garden
where “motorcycle” is thought of as a lubricating machine
posed in nothing but pearls, high heels & holding
a tiny japanese parasol
blue the teeth of time : blue the rage : blue the eyelids
that are closed 

behaving as a functional amnesiac

            undisturbed by rain falling or other calamities
                        the lawn lies beneath us perfect in its expanse
the sentence knocks at the window

I can barely remember spring & the girl I loved
who left me
I can barely make you out : make a sound like a dress slipping off
like two barking dogs barking or a paper bag crumpling

             thank you : now that we’ve learned to talk,
the weather is nearer

 

 

ode to a young poet

            “you breathe function, are twice what a lung does”
            — emma healey

sore aware that simile is only one bird that comes down
too easily
not yet suspected yet for flash & click & suddenness
a’quiver with assonance, alliteration, sleight of hand
swiss army knife

            too disappointed to tear into little pieces, too
                         complicated for an ashtray

a bricoleur not a bricklayer
eminent healing : immanent ailing
the weird whirred whirled
four walls & a fire escape, OOO 

(the commonest mental abilities, not the rarest, remain
the central mystery)
requires no plumbing : eliminates need for artificial cutdowns
you are a pilot, remember? tracer bullets strafe the wing
crisscrossed : zigzagged :

                   p.s. : (by the way) : I like your nose

 


the sentencing

 

I have married & marred the loose speech of strangers
only sentences count, stories don’t interest me no more
characters appear, disappear, reappear random as life
program notes provide more interest than

            the (final)
                        staged production       

where thought is a permanent orga(ni)sm
love comes with its wet doggy lick
learn to fast & drink water by measure
sexual intercourse is not on my radar, only 

hey hon, you didn’t call, why
            didn’t you? call me call me later, huh?

outside the window a parked car idles : for whom?
what are all these words doing roused up against me?
we imitate each other until we are rubbed clean

 

 

 

 

 

Stan Rogal: I live and write in Toronto. Work has appeared in numerous publications and anthologies in Canada, the US and Europe. The author of 27 books, most recent being a novel titled: Darkness at the Edge of Town. Retired psychic investigator, amateur hypnotist, and former carnival barker.