Jerry Ratch

Rookie (August 9,1944 / Chicago, IL)

Puppet X,23 - Poem by Jerry Ratch


A powdery wind
issued out of factories
The spirit in pain
in the near wood

It shouldn't make sense

We're all inhuman, sometimes
Some more than others
And some can't get back

Pretty soon
nobody will remember

* *

Chill, sweat, chill
I grew so weak
I met death three times
On the carpet
and in the hall
and once again
I stared into the toilet
thinking of hatchets
and the will to live
I walked around
in a large nameless circle

… giving my address …

and got so cold
I stuffed my useless
rubbery arms
into my pockets
like the souls of ducks

* *

Big yellow plastic mice
that walk upon me
and then give me a
fifteen minute lecture on
how friendly the mice of California

Little ventures
into space

In a cheerless cobweb

“Parlors in the moon
Parlors in the moon
Parlors in the moon

Bright and daily
with those on earth
It's what I need, O


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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 28, 2009

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