J. Kevin Wolfe told the monkey, “I always had that problem of looking out the window. I was kicked out of Algebra II in the 10th grade for it. A few decades later, my cube has a view of a pine that gets irritated at the lightest of breezes. There are passionate sunsets in the winter. And a constant flux of cars overtop of 90% of the asphalt in the valley. They pay me to look out this window now. Never underestimate how far your weaknesses will take you. Sometimes I look out other windows. I call that poetry.”<\/p>\n
New Poetry from the prolific friend of the monkey, dig won’t you…<\/p>\n
Paper Ballots<\/strong><\/p>\n We elect wrapping paper<\/p>\n (No spit all polish)<\/p>\n Cellophane<\/p>\n (easily seen<\/p>\n through)<\/p>\n because we don’t<\/p>\n know what<\/p>\n could be lurking<\/p>\n in opaque<\/p>\n So we vote the wrapping paper<\/p>\n of our conscience<\/p>\n (unless there’s namesake<\/p>\n in Dad’s wrapping paper)<\/p>\n The only issue is charisma<\/p>\n (What else?)<\/p>\n A smile, not too toothy<\/p>\n (we don’t want bite)<\/p>\n We don’t want policy<\/p>\n just heartfelt bravado<\/p>\n (Oh beautiful<\/p>\n for empty words)<\/p>\n Always fearing<\/p>\n that any more substance<\/p>\n (than a spangled balloon)<\/p>\n might tip the static quo<\/p>\n The Tree Watches Over The House<\/strong><\/p>\n Hundred years ago<\/p>\n mama oak stood alone<\/p>\n in the summer<\/p>\n of a big flat wasteland<\/p>\n A someone<\/p>\n cut her knees<\/p>\n roughed her into boards<\/p>\n there chunked a human birthplace<\/p>\n Right beside mama<\/p>\n acorn grew<\/p>\n until the sharp summer sun<\/p>\n never pierced a window<\/p>\n yet he blocked not a stream<\/p>\n of genial light<\/p>\n in the razor air<\/p>\n of a January morn<\/p>\n Long as she stands so will he<\/p>\n as the tree<\/p>\n watches over<\/p>\n the house<\/p>\n the prospective model<\/strong><\/p>\n come to my room<\/p>\n i have some grapes<\/p>\n they are wine in adolescence<\/p>\n red and green<\/p>\n blood and innocence<\/p>\n in this tiny fingered orb<\/p>\n hold it to the light<\/p>\n see the veins and freckles?<\/p>\n i split it<\/p>\n with my precise teeth<\/p>\n it says “kitsch”<\/p>\n but we know it lies<\/p>\n i place the other half<\/p>\n between the promise of your lips<\/p>\n you bite<\/p>\n i’ll kiss the sweetness dripping<\/p>\n from your chin<\/p>\n come to my room<\/p>\n i have some life<\/p>\n all poems J. Kevin Wolfe told the monkey, “I always had that problem of looking out the window. I was kicked out of Algebra II in the 10th grade for it. A few decades later, my cube has a view of a pine that gets irritated at the lightest of breezes. There are passionate sunsets in the … <\/p>\n
\ncopyright 1999 J. Kevin Wolfe<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"