Costel Iarca  © 2008 All Rights Reserved

The 30th Birthday

Death flicks my ear
with his stubby finger

as he moseys out the door

and into the garden.
Fatty clouds, sticky

and white, roll along

like cakes on Godís
blue conveyor belt.

Death picks his teeth,

and takes a pee behind
the bushes, winks at you.

The relic buried beneath

the elm is your shinbone.
Or maybe itís mine.

Caret initio et fine.

Iím wearing a hat
with a little propeller on top.

You are on your knees

near the back porch:
a spade in one hand,

a Twinkie in the other.

Even The End
has to end sometime,

says the Buddha.

Or was that the
neighbor lady peeking

over the fence?

No matter:
Iíve only got one candle,

and the wind is ready to rise.

***

 

Paraphrasing Iraq


Take, for instance,
this secretó
                windbanked
and woundwashed:

Take this promise,
                        (for example)
                        a cartridge of words
            the dead load and lock and
load again:

And take this province of accretion:
            skin mapped, flagged,
        wired for hum and hushó

                                                these phrases:
    unbuckled and broken,
spread out
                here
among our rewards.

Everything ordnancedó

Morningís drab holster
                                   empty and empty and empty again:

There are nouns for this:
                                    ways to say it,
Sounds the body makes,
Shapes that vowels twist the body into.

Where the word ends
                                   avulsion begins.

 

Dean Rader
Copyright © 2008

 

Dean Raderís work has appeared in POOL, Parthenon West Review, Connecticut River Review, Colorado Review, Poet Lore, and Common Ground. He has won the Crab Creek Review poetry prize, and is working to finish his first book of poems, Works + Days. He is featured on the Borderlands Web Audio site.


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