Deadlines Extended
Take surveys, determine eligibility,
The orders come and are tiring,
The means-tested world is mean
Offers to double savings, warnings
To apply while there is still time,
Not having any experience is crushing
Angels in neon open and close,
Billboards take on so many causes,
Oh, flesh and blood, why can’t I?
The Conclusion is Growing
What was it? Phantom of a memory,
edges of an emotion, source
and recipe for a reaction, what was it?
It was in front of me, I saw it, no listening
and no hearing was involved,
except to hear myself disturbing everyone else.
It was an image, and I made a sound,
what did I do? I remember
eyes closing and near-tears falling down.
No taste of salt, no yelling and shouting,
there were words and a picture
that had no business being together.
Memory clean yourself, memory distill
all that is inside of you,
reach down and out for the cause and effect.
Now there is void, now there is nothingness
even though I am not meditating,
useless emptiness, unnecessary enlightenment.
What was it, what did I see, what stirred
me up when I saw it?
all I remember is that it was funny.
All Systems Day
All systems should be available Saturday morning,
Friday night they shut down, but it was planned,
The door was opened and the hinges cleaned
With the astringency of cheap wine and vodka,
They polished the gears, flushed out the memories,
And emptied the ducts of everything opaque or clear
All systems should be available Sunday morning,
Saturday night there was a backflow
Which became an overflow and undid the work
From Friday night that polished everything clean,
There was nothing overthrown, everything shut down
In order to unlock the achievement of a core meltdown
All systems will be available Monday morning,
Once the illegal smoke and vapors of Sunday clear
Out from the chambers, however, the residues are safe,
It was one thing for the system to abuse the free time
Offered after Friday before the weekend break,
It is another for the system to stop working on a workday
Stacked Rectangles
No, let him draw alone,
he will give you a gift,
patience, if nothing else
These are just his studies
on color and line, learning
to make things straight
They will grow in length
and start to overlap
into shapes by his hand
Until then, have faith,
one day he will become
the master of the square
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel.
