Constanzo Allione – fried shoes, cooked diamonds

Robert Creely – To And

poetry , poem

Monster Garden

bemused by moments

of silence

prayer was gasoline

to that monster he called a soul,

kneeling or supine

never enough,

massage and meditation

tried it all

still engorged on confusion

eyes watched through glasses,

was it all just

steak n eggs

or another sweet cigarette,

he wished to paint

what was placed inside,

no redemption

or sense of morality,

getting more each day

appetites of a man

forgetting where he

had walked before