The Island
the midday heat —
a drunken wasp
drowning in my glass
taller than the corn,
ripples blur the grey
every now and then
the voice of Jesus
from the SatNav
one errant keystroke
beyond a state of grace
----------
banished to the island
a poet
and his misty moon
a twist of wood smoke
sweet as any fish
amidst the roar
of plows and graders
groves of aspen quiver
any moment now
the feedback loop
-----------
the clock's slow drag,
she ticks off a box
in the personal ads
ice at the windows,
baggage at the door
the weight
too much to carry,
a footprint in the snow
so much for the students
and their placards
----------
don't forget your duty
to inform
on friends and neighbours
pouring gasoline
to burn a bit of trash
bright young couples
cradle lapdogs
underneath the blossom
brave butterflies,
we're off to gather scrap
John Carley and William Sorlien
by email
14th August 2013 to 4th September 2013
Carley: #1, #3, #6, #8, #10, #12, #13, #15
Sorlien: #2, #4, #5, #7, #9, #11, #14, #16
Quartet: The Island first appeared in Moongarlic, issue 1
