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Post on 19-Feb-2016
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Copyright © Jack Galmitz
New York, New York
Impress, 2015
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Jack Galmitz
A toy bean bag thrown in the summer sky
gathers boys
Bicycling in a sweatshirtthe solid wind
"Fishman!" he shoutsthe women walk in knots
to the briny truck
Beyond buildingson a rock islandred vines cling
The statueof a soldiersays little
Pity the livingas you walk through the cemetery
in the city
Flies on a goat's headan impression of Jerusalem
The only goldI'll ever own
are larch leaves fallen to the ground
The oldest godswere born of sleepwhere no time is
The trail ended...I've hacked my way through branches
since then
Looking for metala man with wind swept hair
and a sand dipper
I like to watch leavesbrown and green turn
the sun toward me
Baby turtlesrush to the sea
with me
Wine gourds emptythe two men lie on their backs
on the mountaintop
Winter approachesit comes in softly
as Swedish slip ons
In his denhang many animal heads
I stay still
Pale seasend your monster
so we can meet
Heave all over
and she’s removing
my pants
In the desert sandsI found a child's handand tallied its worth
What would I hearfrom what's left of your voice
wind up wind down
Her chest heavedfrom an oxygen pumpmy voice said I love
Hemisphere, ohhemisphere I love to hear it
in the evening air
In the holdshe waits
moving like water
Let us not seek beautyit reeks of design we are
a different kind
The first snowfallI remember
them all
Her boots kicking leaves
the boy admires her
though he wouldn’t say
the steel supportsof the construction
may as well be winter
melting icereflecting the suna construction site
rusted wrencheson a workbench
a still life
in your pupilsgalaxies& dust
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