There is a better way of leaping than Just Because. We all know the water's not always black at the bottom. Sometimes you just need a good xylophone. A bowl of coffee. An afternoon alone
with the tulips & Lawrence Welk mashups. The tightrope strung rooftop to rooftop lets you see the birds swimming below. They are another form of language or
a song without staves. In the wind that is the world flung in circles round the sun, the clouds are water's desire to fly. All is movement. All, song. Every last thing a test of light's power
to turn a flower's head. The way a wildebeest's does when a cheetah, having patiently calculated distance & speed, suddenly blurs.
We've Come too Far to Turn Back Now
We’ve come too far to turn back now. Ghosts lean out car windows, waving plastic flags, Grinning with mouthfuls of black candy.
The living throw rocks at the living Because they are not dead.
The sky trails a shadow that wavers over houses In the shape of a large bird. The bombs come like the heavy strokes of a piano.
There is a boy standing before an altar of rubble Screaming the name of his sister.
A father wonders if there are floating spirits In the dreams of machines; if there are, Why won’t his prayers reach them?
If only he could send the hot breath of God west To devour the gold trees, the gold fields
Planted one after the other in ordered squares Of plenty, of overflowing grace. But he is just a man Covered in dust, a man
Among many, fire stinging like an angry wasp His shaking body.
-- Steve Mueske is an electronic musician and the author of a chapbook and two books of poetry. His poems have appeared recently in The Iowa Review, Typo Magazine, Water~Stone Review, Thrush, The American Poetry Journal, Verdad, Redactions, and elsewhere. He is currently collaborating with photographer Kevin Solie on a series of poetry and image conversations.