Poems

borders surprise us
the map we made is lost

and if I said this was my life
would that change anything?

the rain decides to forget anything it knew about you
our signatures; tangled ink, fading

if I said I wanted this
or how did I get here

Frankfurt an Oder
because no one is letting you anywhere
without a passport

border ease, leaves us between each other
coward lips

by saying river
bronze water running

one pension, two beds
by saying Krakow, or Warsaw

by putting words in a bag
and throwing them into a river

our lives are leaves blown about in a storm
by saying: rusted anchor
prison door

by saying: the words
but, the words will never forgive us

who will forgive us?

Conjugation of a Mirror

by Paul Perry

hile you are walking through Chicago
saying goodbye to an old lover
I am indoors tracing a small chain
of indefatigable ants on my arm.

I stand in the porch
and watch the rain tumble down
from the cupped leaves of palm trees outside.

Scraps of paper are washed away.
I can see you tripping along your favorite streets,
wondering what will happen to us in the future.

Early morning light startles my eyes.
A glass of water, and the quiet
arrival of a day without you.
I begin to notice the slowness in things.
The trees own time in the wind,
voices washing in and out of each other.

There is not enough space on my desk
for what I am trying to do.

The day remains dumb.
Night scratches at the doors and paneling.
Another downpour.

Why am I cold,
I throw more poems out everyday, and bread
for the birds. Nothing much happens
this time of night.
A siren, and next door's singing.
Yes, I have been reading, and music, too.
Upstairs, the businessman comes home drunk again.

I imagine you there, sitting in some jazz club;
replaying the old grooves, swing lover,
bashing out more poems everyday,
Eros tied to your typewriter,
changing your clothes compulsively.

While I am here, my wings full of water,
asking the same questions about swans,
and lights, and dark roads, dreams
scampering down alleyways.

You'll come back with tangled birds in your hair,
dirty fingered rosaries,
with spilled drinks, and unlit candles.