the world's always amazed
at how much cash you made
but not at how you made it
it's just strange


Andre Ethier

How To Listen
-- by Major Jackson

I am going to cock my head tonight like a dog
in front of McGlinchy's Tavern on Locust;
I am going to stand beside the man who works all day combing
his thatch of gray hair corkscrewed in every direction.
I am going to pay attention to our lives
unraveling between the forks of his fine-toothed comb.
For once, we won't talk about the end of the world
or Vietnam or his exquisite paper shoes.
For once, I am going to ignore the profanity and
the dancing and the jukebox so I can hear his head crackle
beneath the sky's stretch of faint stars.


Post
-- by Grant Lloyd

A mother whittles her red-haired child a toy.
Dead deer lie poached along the freeway.
Community vineyards replace
Crumbled buildings.
One heartbeat
And the city thrives
In a bath of silence.
An urban jungle becomes
A throng of cultures, creatures,
And life goes on in a celebration of ruin.


After Apollinaire
-- by Franz Wright

It's four o'clock in the afternoon
and its finished;
I sit back and light my cigarette
on a ray of dusk.
I don't want to write anymore.
All I want to do is smoke.