Monday Nov 28

Isaacs-Poetry Alan Isaacs lives in the San Francisco Bay Area and makes ends meet in the software industry. He earned a Ph.D. in English from Stanford University, focusing on contemporary American literature within the aura of postmodern theory. His writing both engages and resists that background, along with a childhood on an Idaho potato farm, sojourns in France and Mexico, and two years teaching high school via the Peace Corps in Burkina Faso, West Africa.

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To Have to Hunt for Food
 
 
cometh dread night
hanging lamps they
walk us down to the river
 
slay and wash
our pale slain bodies
 
release the entrails
crack joints peel skin
 
it hurts the way they kill us
desultorily

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just club them in the head
but I’m not very good
I’m just a child myself
sent to do a man’s job
and it takes repeated blows
 
I am past feeling, past feeding
 
and morning remember and begin to domesticate
 
instruct how after eating counting can disinfect
 
the human virus prefers less diversity
 
no one knows why I never loved my slim body
 
slim me limbed
 
 


 
No Twinge of Romance

  
I said I loved you because I was sorry
I said and said and seeped dark into day
 
eventually saturating
the way one perceives the momentum of history by sitting still
 
beneath notice, except
to idle observer or scientist
 
copulates to right-angle geometries such as grids
cleaves to high chromatic melodies
 
elegies’ bitter organic residue
yet fails feeling

 
you think too clearly, you in the driver’s seat
have a heart and braid your anguish into a passable show
 
accolade in the entryway
symbiotic registries
 
break like said
you would and spill
 
wine all over the carpet
redolent, fastidious
 
ill-equipped captivating incident
placid is not serene

 
lay it down again in the dry grass meadow
two red-tailed hawks glide above too over