A Day Late – A Poem


A Day Late

A day late
in the mind of a gymnasium
calisthenic training
the inevitable.

Frankincense burns at the altar
erected under a TV
showing recycled 24 hour news
and reassuring
no one in attendance.

Pistol dance
a furtive glance

supper’s on the table
but the boy’s out
playing in the streets under showers
rain colors fragmenting
wet asphalt spray
and I’m still writing
my letters.

Juice bar orgy heart
bar stools all empty and the
packing breath mints in his pockets
for ladies
with eyes polarizing

Upset there was a garbage can
joined by a chain to a cinder block
by the overpass
in the parking lot out back.
Spring broke

the smell of death was awful.


4 thoughts on “A Day Late – A Poem

  1. Reblogged this on Being the Memoirs of Helena Hann-Basquiat, Dilettante. and commented:
    My new favourite poet. Seriously. I’ve only just recently discovered Marcello — if that is his name (I’m going to feel awful if it’s not) and his poetry blows my fragile little mind, darlings. Part narrative, part beat poetry, part surreal stream of consciousness, each poem tells a myriad of stories — but they never turn out quite how you’d expect. Even if you don’t particularly “get” poetry, this is something worth checking out. I believe you’ll be astounded.

    • Thank you, Helena, for the comments and the re-blog! I am very much honored by your words. And no need to feel embarrassed for mistaking my name as Marcello. It is the name of the blog and I can understand the confusion. It is also the name of the novel I am working on (the first part of which can be found on the blog – yes, shameless plug) and that of a rabbit.

      • As I’ve been known to plug shamelessly from time to time, I won’t hold it against you. I’m in the middle of reading a novel right now, with but a 100 pages left. When this is done, I will dive it. I’m going to go read chapter one now anyway…

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