March 23-29, 2015: Hanoch Guy and Ann Yu Huang

The dead are enamored

A
with fall.
Every thing in flux.
Even the wind
goes round and round
uncertain.
The sun plays hooky
most days
and the moon sliver
wets a fluffy clouds
with tears for mommy .

The dead lose confidence.
All of a sudden
panicky
that every second now
they will crash and scatter on rocks
consoled by pines
who set for them
a soft bed of needles.

B
The dead are thrilled with winter
They encase their tombs
With ice spears
to prevent their lovers from
touching them.
They welcome spring floods of the cemetery’s roads.
Can’t face their children.
who invade their dreams
of drowning at sea,
being heroes of a distant war.

They contemplate summer,
leave cracks in graves
for prayer notes to be
inserted as in the wailing wall

Shortly after I am gone

A
The mail box darkens.
Grapefruits smash into the mud
The dry grass is wounded by tank tracks.
Shortcut through the wheat field closes.
The creek is stranded on a garbage pile.

B
For the first time after seventy years
My asthma is stunned into freedom
Panic stricken it wanders aimlessly.
Allergies released convulse in the streets.
Inflammations shoot out of the body
Stick to outhouses walls like sausages.
An oxygen mask and Iv are yanked out
Chocolate pretzels are orphaned in the cupboard.
Fresh organic coffee spreads around the small rosebush.
A strip of senior passes left on a bench.

Eyebrows grow wild.
The tonsils and appendix go back.
Skin shined
A web of veins and arteries is painted red and blue,
make the plastinized body whole.
I am mounted on a stand with
pronounced marathoner muscles
Sperm pouch on the thigh ready..

A curious boy punches me in the balls

Beaches, Nights, which Brighten

Walking at dawn, red silk
chosen by black eyebrows,
runways of joy
where the mouth’s random pout
welcomes something in the river,
red fullness, all things disappear–

the grey arrows of crossings,
the feet trespassing the redness far
from the body’s affinity with death,

renewed with departure and its light.