No. 6


Ryszard Reisner  



in the vicinity of July
winter so minded
a postlunch sun
translating faces
as two and many more
and a windprone tram stop

oh the usual
Sisto  Dimitri  Mama Sofia
wheezing coffee grinder
howling louder than an air raid siren

trick upon trick in glass
that time that distance
and all the other props so miscellaneous 


muscle bound quavers in short black
climb in Floyd Echoes
allegro pasta poppers yes allegro
together strung
wave to wave to 
satiate skate how
words now tumble
past numbness exchanged ditto

one-two one-two
piston piston
coffee and steam
for our daily dream
the unyet finished question
your marinara grins
the tramstop waits patient


the paperback in vertical
the crumpled tailor
a timeless dustbin
the fire-hydrant chipped red
earnest punk arty punk
an adhoc artist in yellow glasses
women in various shades of desire
this once witness 

a timeworn man
an ancient hat
thick tortoise-shell glasses
and one other
so sunglad so
for all our reasoned reasons

a few trees twiddle their stout thumbs
our motives shake hands and sit on the fence


     ‘Doppelganger?’ ‘Why — Mr ………?.’
     my not so shiny black tie thought aloud

     ‘of course can i be of assistance?’
     said the old hat laconically without a hint

     ‘but you are meant to be no longer existent.!’

     ‘a mere detail — a book here, a sartorial there’
     the glasses well worn recalled without remorse

number 2212 in strong catholic green noisily toboggans 
past with gusto

the young smooth tie and the old brown hat
smile the sweetest of surreptitions

     ‘sometimes we but can and are no more than….’
      added the hat on top of the stern brown glasses

     ‘and where does responsibility sit?’
      answered in surprise the silk black tie

suffice to say that gentleman of hat and
gentleman of tie 
remarked their further remarks
but dear readers modest readers
a modicum of rest
for these so aptly dressed

parallax takes a most difficult screaming mark
coincidence hits a glorious nation-proud six


     ‘i trust this winter’s day agrees with you’

     ‘but the individual …’
     pleaded the tie

     ‘unfortunately a collective problem’

     ‘we all have a commitment’
     said the tie now anger

     ‘my thoughts were only taking me for a stroll’
     riposted absently the hatted hat in brief

number 87 in pure protestant orange races up the corner 
and shuttles out of view

now just the hat and now just the tie 
a well aged horse-trough pricks up its ears

     ‘dazzling women in dazzling clothes
     and greys and blues of men of business
     business-like men droning in droves’

     suddenly sang now the merry hat crumpling his
     face in glee

     the tie in silk of purest black did not look back 
     but reserved its anger

     ‘here’s my tram adieu, existence, what a thought’ 
     added the soft hat doffing itself a la crumple

     ‘goodbyes are not commitments, goodbyes are 
     not goodbyes’ 
     mimicked the tie knotting itself in exclamation

windows curved windows straight bask in be to be bliss
and cars just sprint one noise of prudent agreement


the hill perfect empties noonday 
where spent intentions meet
and now the canvas stops 
and turns another page
folds and the news
i simply leave
all again
we pass

in the halved reflection 
tram fast escaping
the hat the glasses 
and was that a wry grin?

windows strut new brazen harlots
questions are once lovers holding hands
billboards and merry signs solicit amiably
and memory mine now a newfound sharpened axe




The copyright of 
everything published 
here remains 
with the authors.


Main Page | Current Issue | Contributors| News | Where to Buy | Links | Contact us | Archives

© 2003-2005 Ars Interpres Publications.