DanGrobelnik's profile

The Thesis: The birth-cradle, between survival and progress Sumerian sands, eroding well formed gilded statues Of priests, reverently clasped and regular A king, eye-level with the Sun-God, In point and line etched the corpus of our state, Laws of priests and men that echo and contemplate The root of all things equal Ancient people, timeless people, breathed deeply When the sands were quiet And repay when the blade came close The Antithesis: Black oil in the veins of self-made Gods Hawks with...

I've severed seven loves tonight The first was black as midnight Ay, hair as black as midnight But not raven in its spite, but soft, Ay, soft, and fragrant like ever-knowing June But buried over now, a raven's spite, indeed, Unmarked, but clawing, cawing As darkly does the startled caw Renew the dead black trees The second, an eye, a sky, A crystal color the angels gave no name But wept and prayed, yes, they prayed For that vitreous humor, the laughing matter That laughed like doves of peace ...

Here we are, now Like a purple swelling supernova Glass-smooth legs twisted inside each other Folded and crooked like a swastika Ancient symbol, loving symbol of Jains and swift kamikaze complaining That’s us, again and again, cinematic Once powerful and universal Now maligned by the old and ugly Power struggle Pains and the cancer of the human condition That’s us, again, and again, through and through One gasp and sex in the shower And the whole secret’s up Snowden’s secret, roaring like mad...

You know what I saw? I saw myself tremble Electric pictures and rapid palpitations Running, storming through rustling leaves And gnarled ancient trees Just to see you And I was falling Climbing and clamoring, breathing in the moonlight Ducking through the grass and the sounds And clutching and tearing at myself, cold and wet, Stuttering, stumbling, always fasting and stumbling And the night was so long, So long And perilous. The ground is stained blue And so much is undone In wild terror-visi...

He was crying again. She sat down quietly, outside his door, On the short wicker chair she’d placed there Some time ago. She had his breakfast spread out on the shiny yellow tray. The sparse, smiling plate, black ringing white, Bigger than necessary. His toast, an orange, milk, dull blue-green pills, ecstatic red ones, The little white ones are his favorite, Codeine, the body of Christ. She doesn’t bring the newspaper anymore, He doesn’t care about baseball or sales, local news, ads, Not sinc...