Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory












Richard Denner



Mimics in the Mist

I walk on the leaves
fallen on the ground—
gravity’s delight!

pressed to the pavement
in the wet night

Mimics brush by
in white face and tattered tux
I turn, they turn, my turn, their turn
doubles hide in every word

I envision you
at your till
in Montmartre

truth follows beauty around the lake




In

a forest — an old
cannon in a tree
that could fall if
there was a breeze

later

a boy kisses a girl
and the cannon falls
or not, if no one’s there

later

abnormal that
there is a forest at all
after those kisses

later

a sequence
of pictures

placed
between
interruptions





©2002 by Richard Denner


Richard Denner is a Berkeley street poet of the 60s, self-exiled to the Alaska outback, printer of dPress chapbooks, cowpoke, treeplanter on the slopes of Mt. St. Helens after the blast, longtime bookseller. He is currently living with his elderly mother in North Bay suburbia, gaining a little weight, getting a little grayer, and still reading his poems in coffeehouses. See more of his work at his Web site.


  Home Contributors Past Issues Search   Links  Guidelines About Us

 

Subscribe to the Slow Trains newsletter