there is absence, there is lack


Molly Rucks, Armatage Park

Lack
-- by Jessica Piazza

Of shock. Of dread.
Of this shock, redressed.
A man in the flesh,
engaged, incensed.
Stock-still. Undressed.

What a fucking mess.

Our fucking gone-too-farness.
The foregone conclusion
is boredom, I guess.

Like sailors pressed into duty on a ship,
we measure the length of our endless
trip in knots. Raise wet canvases of nots
and wait for wind to strip the deck.
I tell knock-knock jokes. You either
laugh, or you don't.

My easy consonance.
Your queasy countenance.
A stray tucked back in place.

Our come-uppance.

I didn't see the glass.
I didn't notice your eyes.
I've not gone crazy yet
(though, it's implied).

But the floor’s declared a war.
and I propose a truce.
Truth is:
There isn't any more to lose.


State of Exile
-- by Cristina Peri Rossi

translated from the Spanish by Marilyn Buck

Exile is having one franc in your pocket
and dropping it into a pay phone
that swallows and doesn't return it
--no money, no call--
at the exact moment you realize
the phone is out of order.


I Call Myself A Reasonable Man
-- by Nicanor Parra

translated by Miller Williams

I call myself a reasonable man,
Not and enlightened professor
Not a bard who knows everything

Sometimes of course I surprise myself
Playing the role of an incandescent lover
(Because I am not a wooden saint)
But that isn't the way I think of myself.

I am a modest family man
A beast of prey who pays his taxes

Not Nero, not Caligula
An alter boy, a man of the crowd,
An apprentice to a wooden saint.