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Poetry is fiction
That's what RATTLE magazine
Printed last issue
Because the verses are not
Exactly how it
Happened

All this time, I thought
The rain was real
Hot sun burns
Friends' kids kill themselves
There is a God in heaven
A MRI was fact
I love many in spirit
There was a 911
Mama boxer girl
Is in a dog's paradise
Looking down on me
As my momma, and daddy
My grandmas and grandpas
Dr. Yeske's son, Derek
Senator Gordon Smith's Garret
The VanSickle boy
And even Carlotta's son, Willie Davison

If all poetry is fiction
Does it mean a lie
When trying to tell the truth
So perhaps someday when
My ashes are spread
Up at
Snoqualmie Pass, Washington
Where Conifer Lodge was
For a few weeks
These poems could be read
By my children and their
Children
Brothers and sisters
Friends and lovers
About fun and feelings
Or how I loved them
With a truth that's deep
As their smiles brought warm into
My world

Forever fiction, All fantasy
It wasn't there
As explaining with words
Is less than action
These cold hands feel bony
French acrylics
With luminescent
Pearl over them
Didn't cost me two hours
Working as a nurse Graveyard
Shift
As most of this Pacific
Northwest sleeps

Using blue ink is stupid
Because black is supposed to copy better
But it's all in the
Pressure of the pen
Have to read about
This other poet's
Theory again
As wanting free
Flowing thought is bogus then
If that's the case
Disgraceful truth is meaningless
Then poetry is a hobby
And I should go back to crafts
Where real money came in
And I slowly went out of my
Mind supporting five people by
Myself on $10.72 an hour

My poetry is real
Somewhere in my head
God listens before I write
Down one word or even find
This tablet on my knee
As Sampson and Callee
Sleeps in front of
A picture window
That has a view
Of Pendleton, Oregon
Morning sunrise to my right
Evening sunset to my Left

Yeah times of mermaids
And a hippie girl fade
Falling in and out of
Love doesn't hurt your soul
Don't compare unrequited romance
To a garden that won't grow
Or tell people they are angels

As you stand there in
That picture
Dressed as a cat
Smiling like you ate the
Canary with your little
Devil niece besides
You for Halloween pretending
To be a poet because if all
Poetry's fiction then what's the use

Might as well lie your a$$ off.


5/21/2008 1530 cj










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