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The sun raises itself-

                        a dull knife

            from the bruised parsley

of urban parks

            and walkways.


Higher into its own incandescence

            back to the wall

            with cumulonimbus

            coming toward its

            handle and edge.


Knowing sugar/salt


            will soon spill

                        as the thermostat

                        is lowered

                                    and lowered


And more like-minded spices



                                                finely ground,


                        vanilla bean


Then the moon makes entrance

            as defunct

            heating lamp


Letting  streets congeal

                                       beneath its watch

And no voice to call for a pick-up.









And Be


seek and be otherwise occupied, too busy for both devil and god, on and onward. no time to turn back, behind, where only salt and cinders remain as steam, gas, oil, gears, pistons pound in electric horizons, neon stars spelling out omens in the shadow of giants dead on the strip, the main drag where myths are made, live and forgotten to all but the shamans, bards, and oldest of old folk who knew firsthand how little glory there were in those gold and silver days.


spend and share alike. too generous to hate. too generous to envy. too this to be that. too to to be.


all the one way streets towards some to – some at. no other way streets. two ways where this binary is not that binary but however white one grey is some second chance is given to black.


this was proud of that restless forgetfulness as eternity tried to grasp an understanding of ‘wait.’


pain and feelings otherwise occupied. too consumed for sin or enlightenment. in and inward. novelty of the past found again in the shortage of youth.









Carrying Walls


in         -          future (pre)tense

            drifting                        knowing how

                                    to get

                        dirt from nails

not from work,

            from hanging

                        –cliff– a prop

for so-called


* * *

                        past                 intense


checkerboard               campaigns


            symbols vs interpretation


                        to follow


                        play victor

* * *

today ever dubious

            is fallen


questioning ever having lived


            a          world

            beyond the sky

too far for naked lens

* * *

never a moment of reflection

                        - sight


                                     shine -

given    for       given


* * *

desolate chimneys scarred by December’s


            tearing through

            January, February,



cool creosote collected

            April, May

            not thinking

                        ever of

what November might like

* * *

            June, July’s

                        saddest lines


            August, September

                        eaten alive


with pretense finally becoming


                        accounted for

* * *

tired of being

* * *

if immensity could melt off

render all back

to life before




campaign was broken

into portions

and to judge


of parts

(w)as criminal


            to torque tongue

                        to say

                                    so = did/done =

            more so

* * *

what is/was




                        over light

            flickers haze

of sweaty tomorrows

before eyes –

                        relieves stress

preoccupied with carrying walls

                        for (en)closure










“Fables have a very tough skin.

They are the daughters of the invisible.”

(Jean Cocteau)

attempted nomadic

. shame fog betrays search


. landslide

, rebel against lands

            hooked to edge


. give fall to protagonists

            change center


, radius, diameter

and      circumference

            of hunting grounds




two home tease


. before each time

            call it

            a close call

            while dragging down

            erect posturing


            stone in depths

                                    of desire


. then it doesn’t

            - becomes don’t-


cleans up


for approval



probability calculated

illusion’s bar set


. constellations’ failed logic

fell apart

from machine




foreign tongues were swallowed

            washed down

            with various cup


            in padded bras


and followed by

            cage bars – eager for

something steel, something

            sweet to go with

            underwire picking

            Arabic and Hebrew

                        from teeth


. never is a verb

. moving is on

            not over

. played that way in head

            while eyes

            absorb high sky

            , get lost in sun

. inferno of system’s center

makes potential for paradise,

purgatory, remedy for



. true came to dreams.

            died there

            uncared for golden

            in bitter fantasy

. miscarried

! skin called snake

            asked how to

            begin again

, accepted all offers, apologies, jokes

then leapt into

                        brush and bramble

through grass

                        where blood was sweat

turned red by fear of flames

fanned in hesitancy’s hyperventilation


. blistered soul

            exploded over pyre


funeral carried on

            in another tradition


, temptation’s blessing was dark

            on its blazed path

carved in shaky hands


            and fragile

. more .

. full lips stole space from voice

            from slogan

            and anthem


. gifts were cursed in hope

            marked as worn

            down by millennia

            of inheritance


. sheen of miracles

            were marred

            in patina

            of desperation


. where the white buffalo

            and white hart went

            is a secret

            of budding grove

without place named


. shroud made of baby teeth

was all that stood between

milk, honey and kryptonite



. easier now for youth restored

shifts shape


                        of deterioration


                        in exercise


habits of weight taken off to where burden was law

etched in uterine walls

. fly. release. fix. improv(is)e.










Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia

Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia is the author of This Sentimental Education, ROBOT and Yawning on the Sands. Kenyatta was raised in Brooklyn and currently resides in Albany, NY. 


The Brooklyn Rail

MAY 2015

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