November 15-21, 2010: Phil Lane and Michael Ceraso

Phil Lane
phillane09@gmail.com 

 

Bio (auto)

Phil Lane lives in Parsippany, New Jersey where he teaches English for a private tutoring company His work appears online and in print periodically 

Visit Phil on the web here: http://breadcrumbsins.wordpress.com/

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Phil Lane and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


 

In October

In October,
Death never takes the ones
you want him to—drag His trite, loping steps,
the corny style of his scythe
not nearly ghoulish enough,
like a horseman without a head—
hackneyed
In October,
the candy that was
once for the nose
is now only for the teeth—
boring
In October,
I ho-hum down a primrose path,
immune to the sapphire sky,
feigning amazement at
the sulphurous world that
spins on a yawning axis—
sham
In October,
the ghosts we are promised
always disappoint,
we are benumbed
by Death’s arthritic ass
limping through our mornings,
clammy as a kid in a costume,
familiar, unexciting as a girl
I’ve already kissed—
drag

Marriage

You marry the girl;
I will court the sun
and the wind,
the rocks
You have dinner
with her parents;
I will drink whiskey
beneath the skirt
of a full moon,
warm within the
slit of the sky
You get married,
you be good;
I am only here
long enough for mischief,
for cigarettes,
for all the things
you hide
in the medicine cabinet
when she’s not looking
You settle down;
I am uprooting
my roots every day,
becoming one
with the rocks and the sun,
the wind, like a kite
being pulled
by a mighty master,
all the while
perfecting my greatest
trick: freedom—

 

 

_______________________________

 

Michael Ceraso
michael.ceraso@qc.cuny.edu

Bio (auto)

Michael Ceraso lives in Queens, New York and was born in the Ivory Coast to an Italian father from Milano, Italy and an Irish American mother from Brooklyn, NY He lived in Italy, Haiti, and Georgia until at the age of six,  his family landed in his mother’s hometown of New York City where he has lived the bulk of his life He has worked many a job in different locales He has managed architectural blueprints and stirred up bidding wars with contractors throughout the 5 Boroughs, waited tables on cruise liners touring the Hawaiian Islands and built homes in Texas After spending some time in Valencia and Madrid, studying Spanish culture and writing poetry, his love for Spain has him hoping to get back there in 2011to teach English and perfect his Castilian He currently works in the administration for CUNY at Queens College, advising students The poems submitted here were written sometime between 2003 and 2008 He is working on a whole new series of poems that, as Billy Collins once observed about his own maturation as a poet, will help him to shed his ‘late juvenilia’ of style

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Michael Ceraso and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

 

Jazz

This subway,
a tube within a tube
accelerating against time,

crosscutting with
all the broad-eyed lives
of the mumbling world

We meander and are lost in the movement;
our lives, in a perpetual state of cracking.

The body bumps to the double-on double-time snare
and high-hat drumming from a third-rail Soul
and all those other possibilities of Being

Tap-a-tap-a-tap; lulled into a semi-conscious slouching,
and inside the dream I am swallowed, vivisected,
the beauty of the Now lumped into packages,
ready to be hauled away to the vague dump of memory

The subway jazz unsheathes the low aria of my verse

and smears it into the dirt and grit of old platform gum.

Long Lure

I was made for the following positions:
Novitiate, Observer, Notch-maker;

Over time, I become:
an afternoon’s drizzle before the storm a spent-ness of legs and quivering,
a waste of my own deposits made carelessly
into the soft flames of her wilting flesh.

Particularly,
ever since the falling out,
I am an amateur dripping in diffidence,
fruitlessly fawning over
an infinity’s murmuring,

–the sky and the mandala’s slow-roast and turning.

Additional skills:
-dying and waltzing
-I acknowledge
that the one great
constancy is the long
lure of wide open spaces.