alternative conversation
next to my house
in a towering maple’s highest crook
I’ve wedged an empty soup can
open side angled up
with a string attached to its bottom end
tautly...
Neil Brosnan
Born on Long Island, N.Y. went to a couple of different colleges; hitch-hiked around Europe got thrown out of Ireland; worked in a mental...
from innocence
oh memory
childhood illusion
behind what synapse
the aroma of smoldering autumn fire
suburban side roads
softly gauzed in smoky light
children’s saturday voices
rising from yards
family raked
weekend chored to
the status...
mercy
Broken man, your fists, two blue sphinx
curled atop a frayed wool blanket
guarding what wastes beneath.
And still, that ruthless countenance
remembered from childhood…
your brute face
eyeing me...
last rite
Sunday Christian radio
Jesus on every other station
the frequency of God
stero summoned
sermoned into farmland and suburbia
I avoid
content for now
with Lady Ga Ga
as I blow past
a...
nightscapes
nightscapes
in deepest night
long after the roads have fallen into slumber
I go out and paint them awake again
with the headlights on my green jalopy.
***
BY NEIL...
buddha of illusion
I have given in to its acute resolve
no longer question
the manner in which it falls
lays away from light
carries darkness regally
unperturbed
non apologetic…
ever defying the sun
sewn...
red buddha
Mao attaining...
(to buddhahood)
Mao you Chairman Buddha now
fat cat china cool
Tao, your zen red book
Great leap forward
bone to throw the masses off…
seeking you in bullett...
The revolutionist
hunted down
they found him in an open field
riddled with scraps of poetry
half thought out verse
set in awkward measure
broken mouth
dammed with thwarted doves
fingers crushed
stained with...
