ditch,

the poetry that matters

LB Sedlacek

LB Sedlacek has had poetry appear in publications such as "Down in the Cellar," "Poetry Monthly," "Bear Creek Haiku," "The Literary Spot," "Red River Review," "Tales of the Talisman," "Heritage Writer," "Transparent Words," "The Recusant," "Edgar Literary Magazine," and "I-70 Review." Awards include First Place in Poetry, Caldwell Literary Awards - 2008, and Third Place in Poetry, Gin Bender Review Poetry Contest - 2004. LB's latest chapbook is "Red Headed Eskimos."

27 Names

                                               

After a summer rain the broken

bottles illuminate, glinting

like paper in a drunk’s mouth,

 

having breakfast afternoons

at a quarter of four –

shoe parade, rush-hour congregations

 

and a piece of newspaper flies

over ATM’s headlines blaring

empty pews and seats.  When

 

it was raining, silence fell

down gray and weepy

under an unread magazine.

 

The slip of paper with a volume

and date turned back on

a bank robbery, a serial

                                               

adventure in outer space

and there’s me in my helmet

taking pictures of nothing

                                               

and keeping notes in a brown

plastic notebook.  Notes

in pockets, hands on my head

 

rush-hour evaporated

underneath headlines

pounded out bleached into color

by invisible ink.

 

 

 

 

Mental Novocain

                                               

Geography is certain still

of its place in dictionaries

encyclopedias bound in cloth, leather

or plastic.  Its colors preen in

dull brown, vibrant orange

shiny with sunlight and thumb prints,

greasy with hamburger juice,

oily with hot dog marinades

and lip gloss smiles meant for

no one.  There’s time for the

fluorescents to mend the cobwebs

to re-negotiate contracts and hours.

as the white face clock ticks

silently in the corner.

 

 

 

 

Merging Left

                                               

40 heads turned towards the

electronic sky their minds

 

unglued and stomachs

gurgling with remnants of

 

sulfur soup.  Coils and springs

are easy to melt and turn

 

into animal balloons, sticks

of dynamite or letters to

 

home.  The words are

made up, the handwriting

 

illegible, the address to

no one.  This game of

 

chess is just beginning

and you're playing

 

whether you know

it or not.  The Knight

 

comes out 24\7, 365

days a year for 15

 

minutes on the half

hour 7days a week,

 

especially on sundays.

 

 

 

 

The Patience Test

                                               

5 years for the blood to adjust

from one altitude to another

making thin skin a sweater’s

playground or pearl-covered

flesh a fresh-kill scent

wafting into septic tanks

into Neptune’s cellar

where plankton kayaks

and algae scuba dives

into lava junkyards and

coral bathtubs built for

2 till 1 of ’em growls,

“I don’t know what’s wrong”

until the needle pierces

veins, pricks eyelids

swollen shut from the rain.

 

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