elysabeth faslund Poems

The hobo, seen through willows
past my screen,
walking shell side of a bayou
highway,
...

Obliqueness can be boring at beast,
with sharp pointy horns, pause of feat,
Oh why cain't the English learn to speak?
And right the wrungs of there defeat?
...

I do not reek of olives, salt, as these hallowed halls...
dust-sticky silk, furred robes. What sanctity those?
Loin cloth, sweat, blood, not allowed. Haunted palace.
I sit, walk, on the dead. Worship the dead. Dead memory.
...

The cards say I lose. Again.
Should I tell the cards they lost,
so very long ago...or deal again.
...

Sitting at this computer screen,
seeing the words tap, tap, tap,
into being, into virtual reality,
millions of years, pictures parade...
...

Unequivocable yes's, are equivocable no's
of unsatisfactory decisions, made in too-
hasty moments under the judgements of
the worlds navigated through...ours.
...

Wind scuttles foam cups down the streets
Fluttering coat shouldered ghosts
Stepping quick, not shopping. Stopping
Only before paint shrouded doors.
...

No sugar! The doc said...
Never mentioned cheesecake.
No potato chips...Pringles then.
No soda...then Miller Lite.
...

Bank curves for smoother, safer travel.
Highways unknown, length, durability,
Longevity.
There are no detours.
...

The purple eye of the dragon,
Streaked red, yellow, twitches
Back and forth over the morning.
Dark mists, darker land...
...