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4 Poems by Adam Strauss

Dear Pete Moore I Hope You Enjoy This Dedication
Wow, modest
Feelings have
To saturate
My cellular
Make-up like
Rad eye
Liner on its way to
Music, a few
Notes, a few
Pricks on the
Map, routes for
Negotiating possibility.
Style is
Not going to
The furthest
If it doesn’t achieve a
Libratory degree.
A few
Shake in a
Green glass vase.
Dew dissolves
On its way to
Glitter and glare:
A lion
Sated by a hare
Looks through
Her full
Of where, plus plumbers and
Memories involve
Plums, porches, crotches,
Backsides forged from denim and
Apple cheeks filling
Each square to its seat.
In the limbic lick, the
Foreleg as
It stretches
Across the freshet, sexy
Obscenity, such succulent crisps
The starving carnivores eat, carrion
A not particularly
Comfort, no
Present can
Console that
Past that presence
And I can’t know so
Thus world goes aglow
And what the
Glimmer signifies
Stands at
No less than a span,
Agreement unto anger
An easy moment’s ran.
Boy at sad, boy at the
Circumference of a tear
As it drips onto
Page one thirty two.
Cynical as a phonograph
Like a maniacal laugh
As it’s perpetually put in its corner
Like a cenotaph
At the most official Modern Art
Museum, belles
Made dumb not through intrinsic
Idiocy rather the
Location, location at
Its most basic
Sense, and surely even the basics
Vary as all-get-out and
Into fullest view.
Her shock, her shells
Out, inters, enters, strides
The high wire then
The live one, trail of
Eggs, arabesques
Dipped in
Gold, sweat from
Orchids lining
The terrace
Fronting the
Palace of almost
All the gods of these
People, if indeed
They are not
Other than
Hallucinations, than gem
Work a wondrous
Prolepsis, party
Favor pretty much
Sums it up.
Jumpy Jubilance
Why would a heart
Break when it
Can be
I mean
Really Sweet
Pea why?!
Bonked towards
The boxwoods, brindled
Blowhards, I tipped my
Cap, capricious
So all’s I
Did was go
Into the zone!
I Do Not Condemn Myself
I do not know enough about the field to
Speak within its purview.
Solids.   Fleshtoned
Cubes.   A green
Calyx.   Tangerine hued
The bits.   The
Pieces add
Up.   I’m looking down.   The street is
Seven stories below.
Roses are selling their vendors.
Some of the most
Superbly seductive buyers are
Getting more than they should for the price.
Some of them
Are repeat offenders.
The tones and
Tangs of
That phrase
A deal renders
Me.   I like to think
I’m brims with love.
My penchant for
Gleeful judgment does
Not freak me out
Precisely because
I know every one
Is its myriad limits!
Adam Strauss has poems out in Witness, Country Music, and the Laurel Review, as well as ones forthcoming in Verse. Too, he has a full-length collection, For Days, out with BlazeVox, as well as poems out in the anthology The Arcadia Project: North American Postmodern Pastoral, edited by Joshua Corey and G. C. Waldrep.