Thursday, September 11, 2008

(This VideoPoem can be seen at: )

Alex lost himself down in the basement,
beneath the yellow-fuzzy glow of dusty bulbs,
his workbench piled with crumpled boxes,
opened boxes, labeled boxes
of pieces of broken radios.
Fascination, a wrinkled curiosity
for years infected his imaginings
about the source of their sounds, invisible signals,
and its reception within these plastic shells,
psychedelic wires,
the fabricated flesh of rectangular, manufactured bodies.
Secretly, perhaps without conscious thought,
secretly, he also hoped to excavate, examine,
even understand the cryptic mystery,
the coded strategy behind God's voice;
its transmission
to the antennaed ears and hearts of man.

Copyright (c) 2007 Gary Brown

Monday, September 1, 2008

Two Eyes Waiting

That halfangry, allwanting, ballcapped face,
bench seated at the busless stop;
and his homeless home of dirty duffle
and black plastic bags
secured his momentary residence
there beneath the downtown shade
of a concrete encircled oak.
Turning to look again,
only the silhouette of his vacancy remained.
Somehow, between two adjoining nows,
somehow, baggage burdened, loaded, ladened,
gracefully he had slipped from view,
had vaporlike displaced himself
to visit where such angels, found,
are entertained by unawares.

Copyright (c) 2006 Gary Brown