A LAY TO THE LAND
Somewhere out there a friend of mine—
someone I know from lines
and microphone meetings—
holds his breath.
Women uniformed in lust
walk in and out around him
wake him gently,
let him sleep,
his dreams deep forests of tall white oak,
rich loam and soft clay,
black bark and thick mulch
worm driven
with just the perfect scent of rain,
the slight shiver of light across leaf.
Michael H. Brownstein
LIKE CANDY ON ICE CREAM
Like Candide's best of all possible worlds
I lick my like from lit of wit
and why the worry ways of ruling rats
Like Wallace Steven's *Emperor of Ice Cream*
I take in tacky death
of horny heels and hopeful hellos
Like Candy on ice cream
her nipples pearled pert
we hump in happy horizontal
Like the constant lice of American dream
scum encrusted, yellowed
I yearn for debugging powder, ponder
Like good on bad and bad on worse
I burn for light and love
in lieu of this miss called is
Steven B. Smith
