Joseph Lisowski

As best I figure
nobody got much.
I mean we’re all caught
in some kinda jail
waitin’ for parole.
An’ when it comes
it only means more of the same.
A different view maybe.

You know what I mean?

This lady up the block
got this daughter across the street.
They ain’t exactly buddies
but, you know, they get along.
One day the girl’s dad, her ex
comes visitin’ with his new wife.
I mean it’s like nothin’s said
but soon there’s this parade of guys
knockin’ on the lady’s door–
five of them ina week by my count
an’ once two in one night, all comin’
in clean, shiny cars, them spiffed,
knockin’ ona door it seems
whenever her ex is ona porch
across the street.
The guy don’t say, do nothin’.
No tellin’ what’s on his mind.
I look again at the woman,
I can’t figure what she got
that causes the traffic jam.

Who knows? Maybe she
makes one helluva omlette.

People live lives
One by one, by one
By none.

Losses are legion,
Not worth repeating
Or numbering

When weight increases
Each day
Each year like

Tumbling dark down
Cellar steps
Where tools rust,

Souls scream in Mason jars
spider-webbed, cracked,
Stacked on a packed earth floor.

Yesterday we dreamed
Angels,
Comforters

Of our nights
Alone
Shaken by dread.

What escape
Is beyond
The flame

Of flesh
That licks
In crevices

Dark
Beyond
Desire?

Who can
Question
That?

Whales, like followers
of Jimmy Jones, give up,
drift, fall to shore,
some pregnant, some hungry,
all weak. On the beach
they show teeth, death’s
ghastly rictus, a grimace,
victims of some evil joke.
Those still alive emit
heart-wrenching sounds, a parody
of mating songs. No one knows why.

Like a tsunami, from earth’s
ruptured core, a wave rises,
and calm, order, peace, and purpose
are no more.