Sunday, December 7, 2014

Jack e Lorts- Three Poems

 Ephram Pratt Remembers Walking through the Wall

Evening was when he
walked through the wall

into the tiny space
holding only air

and a jaundiced victim,
a toothless manifesto

dialed by the rodents
and residents

lining Victim Road,
silent as the hurricane

hurrying through
the glass bottomed boat.

Cross it with a Sunday brunch
held in the chapel

just below the North Lake,
the one filled with miracles

and aberrant bass
falling asleep on currents

running deep into the night,
deep as the silence

read into the decree

by a voice vote
of all the senators present.

       Ephram Pratt Urges the Priests to Succumb

Pungent as rosemary
were the rocks & riddles

found in the pungent
delicacies arranged

in silence
along the table—

no know knows why,
only that the timber

of the gelatinous
wafers used by the priests

were somewhat unusual,
and that they swam

in liquid
dripping from the

maple trees in the yard.
Pick the apples

from the other trees
and let the villagers

pick thistles from their teeth,
from their fingers

and from the thorny
epistles written in large letters

on the water towers
lining the Great River.

               Ephram Pratt Enjoins the Absurdity of Crossbows

Entering into silence
like dried etchings

devoid of color
or an effusion of

devilish warnings,
signaling the end

of a Spanish surrealism,
known to replace

logic or ingelligencia,
let it creep into

an afternoon of absurdity,
strengthened and

lengthened by soft butter,
by soft plastic

songs of irreplaceability
known for the nudging

necessary to eclipse
banging the drum slowly,

walking on water,
or replacing raspberries

with iconic crossbows,
                      ablaze in an arid silence.

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