Five Poems by AE Reiff

 

Memoirist

 

On this bridge that spans the world,

say world on worlds and add an s

for swaying back and forth.

Freight cabooses watch the tracks,

two torpedoes signal watch

the railroad 4D magnified. 

Going away a five year old,

On High truth, switching and shunting,

look out shifting, heating gets on.

A small memoirist explores

the worlds big oOOO OOOooo

that clothes you body and soul.

 

Delicacies

 

Clam and oyster delicacies,

intern through the streets.

Tidal influence at Old Town

reaches far inland.

Wolf to cub, curvilinear pi,

the mind sees not the eye.

Old Dame trots out some fish,  

Elders swing their censer lamps.

I'd never seen a ship that sailed that wide.

 

Galloping Galloway, look your neck;

there you find the orbit phyllotax,

Tycho in the Moon, colony crates,

shape Ohio when Ohio once costumed.

On that Day the  Picadors

drift humane aquarium weather familiar,

rearrange curves and lines,

centers of Quandarists, Rhetors against

Neptune forests of Breton Woods,

A thousand sprigs of thought,

Submerged with dreams,

who ever saw a ship that sailed that wide?

Connect, connect, connect the lines.

 

Great Wall open as a kiln

Round as an apple, deep as a cup

shadow work to spoil

enlightenment of the seventh seal.

A commonwealth free to invade

all people as its own.

 

Riddles in steady air rest causation,

meaning freedom compelled

while swimming fast in the other.

Surely some revelation is at hand

like land fish swimming

between the deep call that surrounds,

to overturn the once believed.

 

 

Countdown

 

You can be unspeakable every day.

and question breathing back.

Beginning to be winter folk

began to untangle rope

like water from their feet and swim

downstream where human forms array

to walk at an  hour before dark

when countdowns starts and wisdom

in the ears glides shapes of brazen sea.

 

Plunging wave amnestic hearts

diverted in the midst of blindness knew

the most dangerous work was coming next.

 

The prophet is a fool and the spiritual men are mad.

The Orange Sea swallowed rock mesh nets,

internet hemlock farms:

Engulfing drains, potential melee,

to slide into the sea, riots

of fever pitch ready, salvationists

as well. Leucoplasts in their hummers:

hospitalists with their gating:

All administrants to personnel!

Photo cells turned red lights on.

The sun stabbed arms in a purple gown. 

 

 

Epochs

 

Apocalypse sat in his chair,

shoulders to the left, knees to the right,

rock head turned around.

The face, the nose, the cheek, the brow

that shades the eyes stuck out.

 

An arm among hunchbacks

joined three apocalypts.

A girl and a guy with a lumping heart

with an arm around her, looking down,

prayed. The shoulders, heads, one by one,

three long colonial hats on top,

I suppose they fell from the rocks

from that herringbone moving.

 

That’s an eye hidden in the cliff.

But somebody hasn’t been born;

They say people that play with clouds are weird.

Who sticks their buttocks out.

Toddlers are in the rocks to hide,

Another arm sticking out.

A bird on a roost and a fat monk. 

have names for what the guy is doing.

 

Loss of a Billion

 

Alternate histories gather

Illiterate states of verse,

selves in the billions matter

until you feel the verge.

 If single life bereave

the war lost being shown,

two inches behind your nose,

who will make the shroud?

AE Reiff - I go in as a blank slate, maybe just an impression of color. I see the Philistine Captives At Medinet and Bruegel, Goya behind ongoing compositions. It is a kind of exhaustion but work anyway to lay out a field of lights and cut strips, throwing them down so they come out with a rolling pin. which made it worse till I cut sections of it away with a knife and got this below. It is not my brain but my ear that tells me what is right when the narrative is beset with symbol which always comes after.