November 2010

Where do I start this time? 
The grass is yellow outside in the dark. 
The rain failed to spread in the wind
As the earth’s skin cracked.

I must mention that boy who lost the California Death Game. 
I saw his beautiful friends crying into their phones.

            “I’ll always remember his smile.”
He flew back in cargo.

            So it goes
this night without guessing.

All time has passed
And I’ve signed my name
            So many times

 Eyes blur

In the rusty leaves of Rhode Island
The ocean softly compromises
 history coughs up a brown reality

The cellos and the cigarettes cry salty tears

I must mention a lady who quivers sleepless in a purple sunrise
She sweeps her efforts in between the fiery cracks
—like bridges.

All the possibiities glisten in the horizon
The dust swarms frantically
A few notes fall from the sky
Just out of reach
And her fingers shake in a tragic application for approval.

I must mention the girl
 who swirls about in her lava mask–
Kicking the attention buttons with her tiny
Half-albino feet.

She shouts out her imperfections—
Drunk and agnostic
I wake up tasting tears
At the last stop.

I must mention the death of dignity
In the late night decay that haunts this spot
With photographic graveyards littered.

Once upon a time, time stood still.

I must mention my dreams—
hopeful and help less

plastered to my drenched skin in a midnight cage.

All sounds monitored.

–WILL Will will

William Toner

What treasure does the King hold close
To dole out daughters like his lands?
By asking which “doth love me most?”
He passes power to their hands.

Cordelia loves but by her bond,
No more or less, and holds her tongue,
For love rejects comparison
And gives and saves, remaining strong.

But he sees power as a means.
If nothing comes of nothing, this
Makes every father’s kiss a sting
Which in his heart plants loneliness.

Not glib, Cordelia speaks so plain
There is no need to speak again,
For though her dowry price declines,
She will not lie to stay with him.

When he cuts out his heart, she goes,
But only if he goes as well.
He must abandon all he knows
To find the truth in which he dwelt. 

And though Cordelia seeks the King,
Against his loss no shield is truth.
For their low-spoken love we weep
To see their one heart break as two.

Jeffrey Boyer