Poems by Jeffrey Side

THE SAMENESS OF DAYS

You hold the peasants at bay.
You have your work cut out.

You should make enough, as
the winter is coming.

Your slivery tongue will get me down.
Same as it was yesterday.

I have diligently numbered the days
since I came west.

It was the only thing left to do,
while heading upriver.

Captain of my soul, now I know.
Good measuring has informed us.

The plains of the world were
where the gold of happiness was.


THERE WAS A FEELING OF SYMPATHY BETWEEN US

Winter again
drunk
to shed

ramble makes
deeds
sail well wash

action dies matted
of a
fist lens paint

swear foam
bursts the
goat

midnight dog
backs
up shaking years
radiation source
fingers
defence city loners

death crosses
mark network
down

trench statues
commingling with the
dead

hotel gate presidents
reserve shells
and trench statues


YOU KNOW ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

Her coat spreads
power around
elegance of
compromise.

Second ridge
ghosters
take the city
and are grateful.

The no seen cars
speed town
borders vanish
fast control.

The weather
was the
first accident.


THERE ARE THOSE WHO REBEL AGAINST THE LIGHT

I’m alone and it’s spring.
If only you’d let me lie on you.

You’ve no dispensations or compensations.
You must let yourself go, that’s the only rule.

Who’s that woman over there?
I haven’t seen her before.
She’s up from the coast with her aunt.
She’s here for her health.

I found her in the morning when she was at her best.
I found it hard to walk away.
The hardness stayed with me all day.

I’ve got people on the streets.
You’re not wanted anymore.

There are reasons for me to suspect I’m mortal.
Raise me from the stranger’s grave.

Poem by Adam Fieled

EQUATIONS #26

Audrey, as a tangent to N, took the idea, not of broadcasting gossip but of sharing and disseminating literature, as a fait accompli move to establish romance, drama, suspense, and rich entanglement in her life. Prisoner of a rich background, and with a preacher for a father, she latched onto me as a purveyor of sweets for her, from my books to my looks to a sense of deference she wanted me to sometimes have as a way of demonstrating respect for her roots. The one determinative moment— we stood, with a crowd of poets, outside a bar in Andersonville, Chicago, as a night of festivities ended, and I was either going to pick her up somehow or not— ended in, for me, a practical response of denial. Her apartment was in an obscure neighborhood in Chicago, I was staying in the distant ‘burb Palatine, and was due in Rockford the next afternoon. For Audrey, as she was later candid about, I was resisting something compelling in the universe which required that we spend the night together. She was heartbroken, with her Indiana-bred sense of being cornfed (blonde, voluptuous, clear complexion), and with the conviction she had that anything she wanted could always be hers. Rich equations suffer greatly from senses of entitlement, emanating from the rich, and dousing all that they touch with a glaze of non-recognition, of obliviousness. This was Audrey’s contradiction— give her a text, available to be read at her leisure, incapable of vocalizing need or difference of any kind, and she could rise to the occasion brilliantly. Texts had a way of ejaculating into her brain and heart tissue, in a lovemaking routine (with the right text at the right time) extremely pleasurable for her. As I stood with her outside Moody’s Pub, a flesh and blood entity— needy, morose, possibly surprising or disobedient the wrong way— turned her interest tempered with diffidence. This decided the night for us. Had we been ensconced together for several days, as I had been with Wendy, things might have been different. But when two possible lovers are too transient to each other, the magic spells don’t work, incantations fall flat, and it is learned again that for equations to take on flesh in the world, there is no substitute for real, raw time.