The sound of things falling in the garden had Jane Eyre reading maps in the evening mists
and blaming Hitler for stealing her pink rabbit which liked to eat in a minaret and tell stories
about praying for fever. I broke free of tulips, but my penguin died because oranges are not
the only fruits. In the nighttime, the dog swallowed Kabul and got curious about Rachel’s
holiday incident. You drank some rye and caught a tin drum at a homesick restaurant, where
you had dinner with a necromancer and measured the world. In a déjà vu, Gilead also had
dinner there and regenerated the dead so they could speak of the psychological impact of
breathing, and tell about how in World War I a teenage girl tricked a philosopher into
stealing horses and singing to a caged bird six years later.
There are forty rules governing how to slap a grey-bearded person. It may be done by
outsiders, by unaccustomed earth, and by Indian-Americans, but is not allowed by Egyptian
authors nor American gods. Reluctant fundamentalists can be as immortal as the great
Gatsby if there is no time to kill reefs, clouds, or atlases. A proud Judas was prejudiced
against a trio of New Yorkers but had a heart so white that he became his sister’s keeper.
The shadow of oranges in winter was not the only question when fruit from a small island
with beloved hawks on it became extremely loud and incredibly close. The great whale had
expectations of riding a lively tiger to the moon, but it took him to the end of the land
R. BREMNER of Northeast New Jersey writes of incense, peppermints, and the color of time in such venues as International Poetry Review, Anthem: a Leonard Cohen Tribute Anthology, and Climate of Change (Sigmund Freud in Poetry). He has twice won Honorable Mention in the Allen Ginsberg Awards (2016, 2017). You’ll find his thirteen eBooks at Amazon, Lulu, BN, and other eBook retailers. Ron invites you to visit his Instagram poetry at beat_poet1 and Absurdist_poet.