December 23-29, 2019: Poetry from Howie Good and Alex M. Frankel


Howie Good and Alex M. Frankel

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Howie Good
goodh51@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Howie Good is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost. Visit Howie on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Howie Good and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


A Simple Prayer

My mom went
into the hospital
13 years ago today
and never came out.

Lord, protect me,
so every morning
I can sit by the window
and start a poem.

There’s a beauty
in inventing things
that serve no purpose.

 

 

 


Alex M. Frankel
alexmfrankel@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

Alex M. Frankel’s first full-length poetry collection, Birth Mother Mercy, appeared in 2013 with Lummox Press. He is currently working on a memoir, entitled Fallen David, about being given up for adoption. His play Revocable Trust, was recently produced in Hollywood. He writes short stories, blogs, reviews books, and helps edit poems for the Antioch Review. Visit Alex on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Alex M. Frankel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Around the Necropolis

After they were killed, they were killed
a second time.
I stayed through the night to make sure.

All rats remained rats
until they died the second time.
The necropolis belonged half to the sea
which brought all its deep-sea toxicities.

In the back room of the Lovers’ Museum and Gift Shop
we drank what we could find.

Would the rats reawaken?
Was it sinful to kill them?
Inside my heart was a heart
and inside that little heart
a rat baby woke up
to its own grandeur of will.

Polluted myths fell from the air.
Calmly, I put my extra kidney on the floor.
From his bunk, my partner laughed
and stroked himself.
Dust fell on my kidney
turned it into a dark rambunctious embryo
that didn’t have a chance.

Rat bones piled up so high
outside the Lovers’ Museum and Gift Shop
we called emergency to dig us out.
Emergency responded Give us seven years.
Beyond the last window
I made out a sun within the moon
and within that sun two hyenas
in a tug-of-war over my partner’s cadaver
and inside the cadaver
where the heart should have been: a rat
healthy, alert running on its wheel.

I knelt and kissed my embryo
so it humped my knee with a grin.

After I was killed, I remained almost myself
until I was killed a second time.