*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR BLOOD TEST RESULTS*
On the bridge, the birdgirl waits with a weight in her ribcage.
Symbolically, a sailor and his sweetheart. A sparrow pecking
at a cigarette. A sparrow pecking at salt for snow. Next to the
pizza place, she keys up a door with a horseshoe over it, then
goes to sleep with hair clips in—Like the firepower rainwater
has on Fort Torch Falls, the level rises in a surge—Exhausted,
she whispers into her pillow: “Bring me things with wings.”
*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR YUENGLING YAMMERING*
Frank O’Hara has a few nosey people coming over: “It’s a party!”
he announces, then into the parking garage he disappears like the
Boston Bruins blowing a three-games-to-none lead in the Stanley
Cup playoffs to the Philadelphia Flyers. To my knowledge, Frank
Zappa isn’t being played in any of the elevators in O’Hara’s build-
ing, but, well, most likely still lingering up there are my 11th floor
farts—Child caregivers beware: goes a man painting famous faces
onto a hotdog cart, tryna get them to blend into the murals of Dirty
Frank’s Bar. And of his Franz Kafka kasha recipe? An approxima-
tion. It’s missing something: Aretha on the juke? Ben on the stove?
Rabble-rouser scavenger hunt. Flying kites, we still don’t know,
so we’re left to wonder right when we need to least—The last line
of my horoscope reads, “Walk away without any words, for now.”
Paul Siegell is the author of three books of poetry: wild life rifle fire, jambandbootleg, and Poemergency Room. Born on Long Island, educated in Pittsburgh, employed in Orlando, Atlanta and now Philadelphia, Paul is a senior editor at Painted Bride Quarterly and has contributed to APR, Black Warrior Review, Coconut, Rattle and many other fine journals. Kindly find more of Paul’s work and concrete poetry t-shirts at ReVeLeR @ eYeLeVeL.
Image credit: Jeremy on Flickr
Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #3.