We Had to Turn the Sound Down, Gerald Yelle

You were wrestling in your sleep, which left me free to explorethe outdoor museum sculpture garden cathedral in the woodsthe dustbowl shrine and warmonger’s paradisenow a dumping ground for dead batteries and cheesecloth.A gravel pit for penance and eating sour-cream and meatballs.I bore the torch to the unisex outhousewhere music still blares –so no oneContinue reading “We Had to Turn the Sound Down, Gerald Yelle”

Apnea, Gerald Yelle

They slicked their hair in their mothers’ tears and when their mothers told them wash behind your ears, they’d pretend their mothers said rears –as in friends, Romans, countrymen. Their mothers said yeah, of course, be sure to wash there too. Because they anticipate the jokes –they know their sons better than their sons knowContinue reading “Apnea, Gerald Yelle”

Bodies of the Living, Gerald Yelle

I was telling him how much I was going to miss him, but in truth he wasn’t going anywhere. Just growing up. And he grew into someone so much different from what he was. I try to picture the stages of his development. I remember that his baby teeth hadn’t fallen out, they just hungContinue reading “Bodies of the Living, Gerald Yelle”

The Roundest Moon, the Bluest Sky; Gerald Yelle

Nothing under the elm outside the beating of dissidentsand even then, you got to know out of respect for the feelings of others, and fueledby a burgeoning economyunder collective hypnotic amnesia outside the window, following starsfollowing days beyond the plaza, inscribing plots and locked in pockets, days containedwithin the cycle deep in the out boxContinue reading “The Roundest Moon, the Bluest Sky; Gerald Yelle”