Lee Crowell Poems

my father in law is at the end of his life
his name is George and I don't want him to go

but we all leave
...

six point seven billion illusionists
today on this globe
seeking consensus
of the senses
...

I dream of Cambodia
of white tusked elephants
plodding through your plains
of tigers and panthers lurking regal in green leaved brush
...

we sat in Washington Square Park
on a slatted wood bench in the sun
your hair was tied back
and your face flushed pink with little beads of sweat
...

there is a fat woman in tight fitting clothes
has a place called Little Angel's
she took me through it
the dimly lit dining room
...

tiny shiny diamonds
suspended in the night
over these mystery paths
humming echoes of tribal chants
...

yellow bus stroking the
curves
on a concrete highway
...

we found you on the open dock
a child with eyes of age
we took you in for the good of our sins
and a greater fear of god's rage
...

used
abused
and utterly confused
...

my father said 'son you've got to
make that run
if you'll ever begin to win'
but dad
...