Joseph Narusiewicz Poems

Off the coast of Maine with the blues
Like Roy Buchanan bending notes
An old black and white film
The wind is strange
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I am the walking city
The breathing collective
The art of day and night
The ideals riding to work
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Silver silence looms her legacy
The pride of fallen angels
Roman slave ships
Us and them
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Parallel dream with an ankle chain
She dances like a fire that must burn
We are the corridors of beryl
Moons of Jupiter
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In the bleak shadow of self doubt
Where clocks chime midnight
Morning stands with great lions
We wait for redemption
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Polished darkness groomed for a city
A city of pain
A city of games
A city that will blow your mind
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Madness burns like a candle
Blustery night haunted with Anna
No clover or wild grass grows
No laughter sighs in the wind
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Have you seen the leeches of society?
Have you seen them crawling like snakes?
Sucking off the life of everyone
Have you seen them with their lawyers?
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Identity, fragile image of broken mirrors
The start of hope and banished fears
Razor time cuts into the innocence
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Dreams from Vienna, vernal troubadours
Violins play soft, cafes in romantic light
French poets with symbols of rebellious mirth
Walk the ancient streets, parades of ghosts
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