Otata 27

  • in memoriam Johnny Baranski  


    Folsom prison blues— 
    every man guilty of some 
    kind of innocence                            

    a worm twists and turns  
    at the heart of a rose                      

    see? with the beads  
    of glass I can show you  
    your rainbow                                  

    revenants of yesteryear  
    in her sleight of hand                       

    now the mirror's empty  
    but for the stupid smile 
    of moonlight                                    

    a bolt-gun rings in the stockyard  
    poppies Hafiz, oh the poppies...      

    day after day   
    the quiet American   
    soldiers on                                        

    a chalk window on the wall   
    there's your escape                           

    the goldfish stares through me   
    two blue-bottle flies  
    gather dust in the corner                  

    a breath makes to softly leave  
    through a split infinitive                     

    hand-to-brow  
    in one movement   
    mensch                                             

    mother's approval proves  
    the relationship's final blow              

    dead sea scroll  
    a caterpillar  
    of its end                                           

    OMG! there's a dog  
    trying to get into her ear!                  

    and yet no one pays any mind 
    as the ground erodes  
    underfoot                                            

    unheard of 'til now  
    footfall on water                                

    first snowdrops  
    a certain whiteness in   
    A Love Supreme                               

    refracted through my third eye 
    the moon scents whisper                  

    images strewn 
    across the underbelly  
    of experience                                   

    quietly dusk leaves  
    the fields wide open                           


    Clayton Beach, Hansha Teki, and Johannes S. H. Bjerg