SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

It might come too soon for my taste
perhaps on old age rot
perhaps a truck may take me there

Some go by plane
Some just shoot themselves or jump
from a favorite bridge
or promontory

Some might not notice at all
dazzled by rainbow light –

infinitely fading into something else –
over the rainbow

THE POEM SAID

While you slept
I was in the air, in the atmosphere
many times

Many times I’ve left you there
while you slept

While you slept a poacher
could’ve harpooned you
while you dreamed
of sleeping seals

OLD PATRIOTIC POEMS

Old patriotic poems
are like old shoes, well worn –
polished thin, correct, well-born

Old leather can be strong
Old shoes have holes
Old shoes love, celebrate
psychotic turns:

One mortal wound makes war
into justice, life
into death, make death
heavenly, and love –
for nothing – seem real

I CAN’T FOLLOW

I can’t follow
what you say
though I try in
every way
to comprehend
your slightest word –
I can’t help it –
you’re absurd

IN BREAD, DEATH

Hamburger does not
resist
nor suffer outrage
it is free to be as dead
as dead can be –
fried dead or frozen –
peaceful – decorative –
spread out in its own
small box with cheese
ketchup and pickles –
in its own small box
with its very own sesame
seed bun

David Newell lives in rural Oregon. He is a woodcarver and banjo playing hipster. His first book, The Poem Said, is set to appear in 2015.