lines
lines Copyright Š Jack Galmitz New York, New York Impress, 2015
lines
Jack Galmitz
A toy bean bag thrown in the summer sky gathers boys
Bicycling in a sweatshirt the solid wind
"Fishman!" he shouts the women walk in knots to the briny truck
Beyond buildings on a rock island red vines cling
The statue of a soldier says little
Pity the living as you walk through the cemetery in the city
Flies on a goat's head an impression of Jerusalem
The only gold I'll ever own are larch leaves fallen to the ground
The oldest gods were born of sleep where no time is
The trail ended... I've hacked my way through branches since then
Looking for metal a man with wind swept hair and a sand dipper
I like to watch leaves brown and green turn the sun toward me
Baby turtles rush to the sea with me
Wine gourds empty the two men lie on their backs on the mountaintop
Winter approaches it comes in softly as Swedish slip ons
In his den hang many animal heads I stay still
Pale sea send your monster so we can meet
Heave all over and she’s removing my pants
In the desert sands I found a child's hand and tallied its worth
What would I hear from what's left of your voice wind up wind down
Her chest heaved from an oxygen pump my voice said I love
Hemisphere, oh hemisphere I love to hear it in the evening air
In the hold she waits moving like water
Let us not seek beauty it reeks of design we are a different kind
The first snowfall I remember them all
Her boots kicking leaves the boy admires her though he wouldn’t say
the steel supports of the construction may as well be winter
melting ice reflecting the sun a construction site
rusted wrenches on a workbench a still life
in your pupils galaxies & dust