lines

lines

Copyright © Jack Galmitz

New York, New York

Impress, 2015

lines

Jack Galmitz

A toy bean bag thrown in the summer sky

gathers boys

Bicycling in a sweatshirtthe solid wind

"Fishman!" he shoutsthe women walk in knots

to the briny truck

Beyond buildingson a rock islandred vines cling

The statueof a soldiersays little

Pity the livingas you walk through the cemetery

in the city

Flies on a goat's headan impression of Jerusalem

The only goldI'll ever own

are larch leaves fallen to the ground

The oldest godswere born of sleepwhere no time is

The trail ended...I've hacked my way through branches

since then

Looking for metala man with wind swept hair

and a sand dipper

I like to watch leavesbrown and green turn 

the sun toward me

Baby turtlesrush to the sea

with me

Wine gourds emptythe two men lie on their backs

on the mountaintop

Winter approachesit comes in softly 

as Swedish slip ons

In his denhang many animal heads

I stay still

Pale seasend your monster

so we can meet

Heave all over

and she’s removing

my pants

In the desert sandsI found a child's handand tallied its worth

What would I hearfrom what's left of your voice

wind up wind down

Her chest heavedfrom an oxygen pumpmy voice said I love

Hemisphere, ohhemisphere I love to hear it

in the evening air

In the holdshe waits 

moving like water

Let us not seek beautyit reeks of design we are

a different kind

The first snowfallI remember

them all

Her boots kicking leaves

the boy admires her

though he wouldn’t say

the steel supportsof the construction

may as well be winter

melting icereflecting the suna construction site

rusted wrencheson a workbench

a still life

in your pupilsgalaxies& dust