Archive: May 1998  |  View all recent posts
5.1.1998  |  Poem

She's a lady

Poem — ©Jeff Franks
There are no trees, only scrub-brush and micro dust, suspended in air so pure - so cold and clean - that it hurts to breathe The sky is filled with millions of ignorant flies, gnats and mosquitoes that light and wait to be crushed on hard tanned quadriceps by dirty callused hands There are deep urgent breaths all around me, this air is as thin as the margin for error Anchored by my daypack to this smooth granite seat, below my dangling approach...
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5.1.1998  |  Poem

Chandler's Buffet

Poem — ©Jeff Franks
The beasts move to Chandler's, swimming behind the blood rare canopy, validating the red brick wall, dragging their huge fins like conning towers on attack submarines. In the hot kitchen, Alaskan King Crabs steam like geysers when cracked, haddock sizzle in frying pans used to beat them flat, slippery gray squid gaze out with black fluid eyes, while worn out salmon lay on ice, quarantined like salty lepers. Outside, impatient killers...
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