A Poem by Thomas Devaney

A Poem by Thomas Devaney

by Mark Bibbins, Editor

Three Ghazals

Children have their own music; and the owls;
the snow owl: always five blinks off the beat.

Our friend pointed to the eves just off the wild life preserve:
“This guy’s a menace. Barker from a bad circus.”

Softly, low, emulation and the owl: — no light anywhere.
Shake hands with your sister Kate, shake feet with the owls.

Bet your life I was afraid of the owl.
Yes, yes, if you won’t bet: still afraid of the owls.

*

Hour of bottles and breaking glass, truck
in the back, hard to say when you stopped

hearing it, not yet day. On this particular,
Morning says, the day runs behind the day.

Standing half asleep, a late night motherfucker
all your life. Not a dreamsong, it’s true

waiting for Mary, Mary Mary, why are all the trucks
backing up? World of wonders, world of nerves.

Shaped by a half-dozen voices, sighs, cries: hear
Tom, Thomas, Tommy Wheels.

*

The books on the bookcase are taking single breaths,
they want out.

Like X used to say, such and such was under wraps, you know,
bringing words back to words, thunderclaps.

Honestly, one of the reasons you feel at home
is you don’t have to keep an eye on your stuff.

No one knows how the books got deleted, nobody.
You can’t walk away from it, the heat in your head.

How is it Quiet Man that all you have to show are your zines?
Glue Stick, Artificial Insanity, Talk Is Cheap, Poser Death.

Thomas Devaney is the author of Runaway Goat Cart (Hanging Loose Press, 2015), Calamity Jane (Furniture Press, 2014), and The Picture that Remains (The Print Center, 2014). He is the recipient of a Pew Fellowship in the Arts for poetry (2014).

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at [email protected].