Available at OBOOKO; Philistine Press.


 
Book Review for The Republic of Naught:

Subterranean Blue Poetry

Volume I Issue V


Saturday, 2007

They interfaced beautifully

All over the bar:

Lawyers in love,

Cyborgs on the sauce

They exchange fake names

And then they get off

Every nights’ a brand-new

Cold call

She says “Let’s go back to my coffin”

It’s never been so crowded.

He’s hedging his bets

Laying down in traffic

He’s from the South but likes the North’s chances.

Collection agents in love

It’s Christmas in the meat market

Questions like presents

Shimmering baubles

Fanatics without ideology

Pack the boozer to the rafters

without regard for nation

Or century


At the End of a Line

From the end of a line you’ll call

Requesting

Something basic.

I will borrow your manner

Politely

Murmuring something

Cryptic

About the weather here

Or the inconsistencies of the higher ups’ marketing strategy

As we haggle over the price

Over what must surely be an Eiffel Tower

Or some prime swampland

In Cape Breton.

For my part,

I will quiz you for discounts from light years away.

For your part,

You may wish to speak with my superiors-

Tough!

This is not a democracy, friend.

It is always midnight.

It is always raining.

We will each have something in one another’s world view

Confirmed

Before quitting each other

Along the Jersey Turnpike on a cell phone

Or the former dictators’

Gallows

Global denizens

At the end of a long, nearly interminable line.

You could be in India.

I could be on Mars.

In thinking so, neither of us would be wrong.




SubterraneanBluePoetryLogo
 
Subterranean Blue Poetry

www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com

© 2012