Robert Hensler Poems

I hear one day the word “mountain, ”
and I ask someone “what is a mountain?

I have never seen one.”
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On December 22,2012:

Those important words we spewed out like chunks of lava
fell dead as rocks on a desert.
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God showed me nothing
And I was afraid until I realized
That fearing makes nothing something.
The hope in fearing nothing is that
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Frightened in my dark at 4 AM,
I shall name my place Kazakhstan

And declare its borders what its borders are
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Old scrolls snap and break if you try to read them.

Best keep them rolled and inscrutable.
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How straight the back
how taut the stance.

We think we march
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Caught is proud
and caught is debonaire.

We climb the wheel
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Trench
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It should be a big surprise,

when you slip up to the end of days,
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Kushti Bok!
The gypsy cried. Tapped
his hat and climbed inside
His truck.
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