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Five Poems by Jo Barchi

Four Poems

q&a
 

Your chromosomes 
look like chipped piano keys. 
I much more prefer 
the xylophone. 
Every bar and irregular meter. 
Hymns of flat affection. 
Dressed. Undressed me 
of my four-colored faith. 
Tomorrow I’m told 
it’s supposed to snow.

 

 

 

spirit drinker
 

I
had this
period where
I'd go to clubs
It was there
always
and eventually
It broke
into my hotel
waiting at
the
window
to the pool area
telling me
It was
three
in the morning
that
It was not
goodbye
It was not even
hello

 

 

 

Volksmarch
 

The claws fire back.
Hell bent kneel with soda

for purchase on lemongrass.
Microwave sales at Sears riot

to the point of tear gas. Usually
a passion has no destination in mind

just compulsion and spread,
red socket and bone caverns.

The old playgirl shakes a snake skin
wanting love, wanting to be heard

to be far away.
It was quite a dream.

 

 

 

Three Mile Island
 

In a nutshell, syndromes lurch
a certain irony

small children
the flow of emergency cooling

an industry argot melts down
clear to the other side of the world

night trading coal for oil
the aegis of people

status as the small wonder
power, measured by opinion polls

energy necessary to wean land
the drawing board

time is running out to adopt
rescinding attitude

on the heel of mucous
squall and hale

 

 

 

Boona Daroom is a salesman and mountaineer. He is the author of four chapbooks and a novella. He lives in Brooklyn.