Sunday, March 31, 2024

Two Poems by Jay Passer

It Feels Like

she's gonna be

my last

great love;

just like

she was

20 years

ago

 

yeah,

that time

same kinda thing

 

this one's

almost

the same

age as

that one was

back then 

 

that's right,

just a

poor kid

 

but

this time

I'm not 20

but 40 

years older,

give or take

a minute or

a thousand

million

 

say

 

galaxies, or 

on some rainy 

afternoon,

brushstrokes

by Picasso

 

this time,

that time,

in fact

both times,

she's a

ginger

 

what a

surprise

 

she might as

well be an

elf

 

either

from the 

shtetl or

on a

spaceship;

 

its always

back to

earth

 

same thing

that time

as

this time,

in fact

all the damn

time

 

hard landing,

soft touch

 

same

impossibility,

same

perfection,

same tiresome

haunts,

same glorious

kiss

 

another

rainy morning,

her red hair 

wet, her 

cold white

hands

 

in mine


Not Even Malpractice

Theres nothing wrong with me other than an overactive libido. The chronic pain, apparently, is psychosomatic. And all the bloodwork on Gods green earth wont make her answer my texts either.


Bio: The poetry of Jay Passer first appeared in Caliban magazine in 1988, alongside the work of William S. Burroughs, Maxine Hong Kingston and Wanda Coleman. He is the author of 14 collections of poetry and prose and has been included in print and online publications worldwide. A lifetime plebeian, Passer has labored as dishwasher, barista, soda jerk, pizza cook, housepainter, courier, warehouseman, bookseller and mortician's apprentice. Originally a native of San Francisco, Passer currently resides in Los Angeles, California. His latest collection of poems, Son of Alcatraz, released in February of 2024 by Alien Buddha Press, is available on Amazon.

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