ISSUE  1   2   3  


 5     SUBMIT

Three Poems

Ruth Lepson

Steve Lacy Plays Monk

Even understated it’s pruned zigzag like the letter z not a lot of
color but slicier grey clouds grey trees grey house
preparedness at the top of the scale snare drum under
structure and departure quiet listening till come in again the
drummer like a soldier who got out of line then readiness cool,
as quiet inventiveness three rivers amble and able walking the
dog fractal that demonstrates easily offbeat squeak under the
wire erasure conjecture conjunction function moody smudge
rasping down to nothing whistle wheedle press twang of amble
function room shiver shutter like a motion picture of the
actual event or day bass trying melody to no avail horn higher
than that lower the same fades refuels pauses to regroup
comfortable clothes that fade into the background bubbling up
and a river sliver and its brown banks just because you can
bass heartwood satisfying soprano wail rivulet on piano

Parisian Fete

            For Steve Lacy

Renaissance-y with 21st-century tactics careening down yet up
all the time sometimes smudged stopping when it’s time
sounds evergreen but more abstract then there everywhere
you turn each place you see easier to bear like the jagged
and round molecules those notes came to and went out with
you not too tall white trills got a cup of coffee for the pleasure
of keeping up with you no solemnity a day, worthy and shopworn

Irene starts anew as the only woman has to single like a silver
sound impossible not to listen to and she’s been at it so long


The trees are brown I’m driving downtown the snow long dirty
life’s pretty when you’re taking the horizontal escalator along
seagulls in whitish sky lot of construction on the roadside
lunch ain’t much unless you slide along open handed
sweet and tough takes futurity talent and love smooth as
rough can get don’t get up yet sleep for one set having done
the edge of life you took it expressed it to the sky now saving done