Jesse Weiner Poems

she often spoke of suicide, wordlessly.
did I see scarred wrists or imagine them?
of whose suicide did she speak?
her eyes, I saw them, told a kind of truth
...

last night, the moon was full
and the bridges were lit. you
were out scavenging, as usual,
under bridges and beneath the moon.
...

in perspective, parallel lines appear
to converge, distant objects appear to
be smaller, closer objects are more distinct.
in linear perspective, things disappear.
...

in the produce section at waldbaum's, by
the avocados, I asked her, do these
feel right to you? she screamed
'I know what you're thinking! '
...

the book was lost, it was
a good book, a poetry
book. one I hated to
lose. I wanted to find
...

we live on an island fringed
with bridges, steel
things connecting us to other
...

the future ain't what it used to be,
it seems like the past coming back again,
like an open book, a dime store novel, a new mistake.
the Dodgers are leaving Brooklyn, O'Malley said,
...

go ahead and ask, I answer all questions, don't answer those
questions, I stand naked instead and offer my list of
adjectives
my favorite color is yellow, best movie is, last book read and here
...

I didn't want to talk about birthdays,
they're no comfort to me anymore,
they bring me things like
atom bombs and electric chairs,
...