These were good, even if they tasted like they were picked up off the ground and thrown in a pot of sauce for a few minutes. Not Escargot for sure.

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E13th
Didn’t Don Helms
In Hank Williams’ hell dare

All that talk of lovers and losers
From your Jet Set
to and from the equator from the center of the eternal city
Hardly, Hank, the bikinis and museums
Hardly, the tequila and the popes

There’s your own
Barnstorming
& there’s your fear

Didn’t your allergy and colon and poor hind-eyesight
Prepare you for the new decade?
True, you’re not the only un-fathered woman
to remain
difficult
with man
We each have ours-
True, your behind is a beautiful sight
Your eyes look like/at something else
they will never leave
Him or home.

But the cause, I am not.
I remind you of the clause in the constitution
About our friendly rights and privilege-

As Everytime with
is making with
Just you talking and
You & You
Sharing,
That’s all, sue me.



I don’t believe in those stock solutions
But if you do, I release.

Your magic is that
You disappear in a storm and
Return tanned
Months later



II.
That against My constant struggle amongst
Lunch and lessons
Songs and tired tides of liberty
A year from never painting again
In helium and heartbreaking
Friends, so silent to the sound
Of a poorly played paradise

I can push the edges of it towards total flatness
Butter-ly press Lime and marble dust
I can make it mirror sometimes
Clown-ily fumbling I am pushed towards the universe
In my crude
Carrot, pocket knife, saw, slide,
Ax
Am
most deviant and free just
making minor noise
converging and disappearing in you-

Carbon, Calcium and Noise or
Carbon, Calcium and Nothing.

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Coo Chord, diminished (G)

In the course of the elevated
Touching, all and nothing, limited
By the unsure outcome of
These tired shreds (sheets)

There is no other way to say
Being Inside
An excited spiritual crossing

Brought these bones out
On your painted beach and sheets

I never minded being yours.
Its sweet to be remembered.

In those few hours I dreamed in fast-forward.
After palming and tasting
Vacancies and members
You planned an escape

After healing an itch
Of mine and of yours
That hardly has healed, dear.

*

That fingerless dawn
I paced under heat and rain
Sickly up to Tasso’s Tree
To return
But you don’t eat breakfast or
Ask anything either

Who knows where you are.

*

As if friendship would protect
Me from you & your
Calculated
Figure

I was the geisha.
You are spared.

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My book of poems, Ghost Songs, was just published by Casagrande Press. It is now available from online booksellers, and at the Anglo American Bookstore in Rome, Italy.
Thanks for buying a copy.
William Pettit. Ghost Songs. Casagrande Press. ISBN-13: 978-0976951667
publisher's website http://www.casagrandepress.com/william-pettit-poems.html
This book was written in 2001-2002. To see more recent writing and more info on Ghost Songs, select "This is My Land, Second Season" above. and
http://selffantasy.blogspot.com/

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On Starry Skies

What do we look to the sky to but
Transcendence & destination, Both destiny and guidance
Night is coming to terms, and discovering magic roads to the end and beginning
They marked many a passage, united seafarers
Making Jesus and Ra somehow kings of some
under

so I made it so I can hold it
It’s hot, It passes too quickly, and one turns cold and another fades away.
I wish, scientifically, I could explain or wish away
A Doubt of Facts
But Often I dare not face it.

Infinite, yes, massive against our Who-chimes
A tin beep in the pulse of a flea, dear

To Humbug and Pooh brought these little
Things you can’t eat, un-sweet
windows, like the lake that stares back
To you
like out at sea.

Any Thing can Only be about the Past
everything I own is
A gift.


The stars that night you and I didn’t sleep and
skies were one forever
On a balcony, on a golf course, just running drunk with you, (blind,) through “Campo”
Or on a lonely eclipse
You watching soaps
the end and the beginning in English and Spanish
skyward, pulls out of that heap .
Who wouldn’t jump?

In the drift, splattered caring and scattering
Our unusual particles of defied reason
Somehow resettle and make me and make, naturally, you

Quite right—to fill with emptiness, sure
I understand your fear, but listen: it’s like a campfire

Glowing solace for the innocent and
The damned cowboys

Bodies telling bodies what words have already

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Here I showed 40 "pocket universes". Pictures coming soon.

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I have read Pettit's poetry in the past, and this is a great collection. These pieces are integrated, comprehensive and evocative. He has a very strong painter's sensibility that comes through in the spectra of the experiences he outlines. Language moments shift, each with color and mystery. The pieces leave me feeling activated in ways I don't completely understand, and that's exactly what I like the most about it.
MLindsey
Michael Lindsey is a programmer, musician and composer. His interests include gamelan, free atonality and chess. He was raised in Alabama, has lived in Bulgaria briefly, and now resides with his children in Berkeley, California.

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