Other Poems by:

Larry Bierman


You wore a robe.

I remember I was

awake and it was

always very early.

I couldn't wave

with my arm in a

sling like that.

I'd shout your shade.

June, the dreamstress,

as illusive as love

as real as anger

came close dangerously.

The night was dark

green and shiny

as what you wore.

We rode the globe.

You don't have to

sing to be sad, after

all what's done, is.

Horizontal sunbeams.


This is the land of guitars

and voices that can make you cry.

Young men with gimped ears

and an ageless look in their eyes

strum and fret

their voices smooth as smoke - songs 

old as the hills.

The girls take it so seriously

even if it's all a joke, Jack.

But like the song says - give 

a babe enough rope.

Then there's the old line,

you asking for my sun sign.

Sagittarius, without question.

We're both better than this.

What is this place?

We're backstage

in the out takes.

We're beats again in a basement.



O, where art thou?

Say you read an article

about blobs of bacteria

discovered at the edge

of the atmosphere,

and are they from space?

June said, "get off

my ledge." He thought

she said stage. He fell

hard, big as he was

and all.

Another Week

This is the time

wind whistles through

the hollow head

and old men greet you

with the rattle of bones.

This is the time earth

turns and tosses

under the heels 

of well dressed mules.

Potatoes call to the clouds.

I've heard broken trees

beg for fire.

I've seen mean women

close their eyes.

This is the cutting edge.

Can you taste

the steel in your teeth?

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