SurVision Magazine / Gary Glauber

Mariah

What a windy world you have here.
She says her home is nothing like it.
Our branches never tremble and bend.

They jounce the way a belly shakes
from laughter, the way a chipmunk
scurries with tail up across dirt road.

We love the wind, he tells her.
It is the breath of gods, reminding
how so much is beyond our control.

It whistles in a haunting way, as if
to stir the dead from their graves.
I had better hold you closer, she says.

And as he watches rickety contraption
hold fast against near gale forces,
he embraces her embrace in silent thanks
to invisible things uniting them.

Runcible Love

I am a sandwich alone in the dark,
ready for anything, like an astronaut
stuck ten million miles from home
& running perilously low on air.
You live in a world of fishnets
& thick mascara, wide awake
& eager to binge watch another
nature documentary that bonds you
with the planet. Some things
never change. You are a collection
of vague hobbies that revolve
like a raffish wheel of fortune.
Sunday you buy a vowel.
On Monday you weigh
the colors of shadows,
looking for a perfect match
that assures April showers bring
what may occur anytime after.
Always blame the weather.
You shout "Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit"
to start a new month, then
act surprised when on the 2nd,
three rabbits show up at the door,
wanting to share the good news
about the relative topography,
the grant that's been granted.
Know the will is willed hard
at last after lo these many.
So strum the pretty melody,
call the clouds by their Latin names.
I will sing harmony in
the kaleidoscopic third
adhering to music theory
in a way that makes objects
appear larger in mirrors,
in a way that vibrates tiles
into strangely appealing mosaics,
in a way that ultimately
convinces & manifests
universal entropy into order,
in a way you begrudgingly
have to admit
always makes you smile.

Gary Glauber is a New York-based poet, fiction writer, teacher, and, formerly, a music journalist. He has published two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press, 2015) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press, 2017), as well as a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press, 2016).

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Four GARY GLAUBER Mariah What a windy world you have here. She says her home is nothing like it. Our branches never tremble and bend. They jounce the way a belly shakes from laughter, the way a chipmunk scurries with tail up across dirt road. We love the wind, he tells her. It is the breath of gods, reminding how so much is beyond our control. It whistles in a haunting way, as if to stir the dead from their graves. I had better hold you closer, she says. And as he watches rickety contraption hold fast against near gale forces, he embraces her embrace in silent thanks to invisible things uniting them. Runcible Love I am a sandwich alone in the dark, ready for anything, like an astronaut stuck ten million miles from home & running perilously low on air. You live in a world of fishnets & thick mascara, wide awake & eager to binge watch another nature documentary that bonds you with the planet. Some things never change. You are a collection of vague hobbies that revolve like a raffish wheel of fortune. Sunday you buy a vowel. On Monday you weigh the colors of shadows, looking for a perfect match that assures April showers bring what may occur anytime after. Always blame the weather. You shout "Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit" to start a new month, then act surprised when on the 2nd, three rabbits show up at the door, wanting to share the good news about the relative topography, the grant that's been granted. Know the will is willed hard at last after lo these many. So strum the pretty melody, call the clouds by their Latin names. I will sing harmony in the kaleidoscopic third adhering to music theory in a way that makes objects appear larger in mirrors, in a way that vibrates tiles into strangely appealing mosaics, in a way that ultimately convinces & manifests universal entropy into order, in a way you begrudgingly have to admit always makes you smile. Gary Glauber is a New York-based poet, fiction writer, teacher, and, formerly, a music journalist. He has published two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press, 2015) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press, 2017), as well as a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press, 2016).
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