b o b m a r c a c c i

b o b m a r c a c c i
	[too small an opening] [a man smoking on a redwood bench behind bent overgrown flowers] [motion indicator sensor]


	too small an opening pray my small prey of the wide-eyed moon earth moves my tired earth in inexhausted description in language that blips with suspirations most find in language that fails to smooth more in loved by her
next

a man smoking on a redwood bench behind bent overgrown flowers          takes
the sky wonders like blue laying down his thin body on cement          he came
here to read a book with a penlight in the dark night instead he’s picking up vices
and stands knowing          the stars were painted long ago          this perfect sky
and boy with no end to late august          glittered remains of starlight and
stillness on a handful of rosewood bedroom tables in san francisco goes
unnoticed           there’s enough light glowing over the city to give us a slight halo
effect


	motion indicator sensor sounds motorcycle electrical humming through urination and flush doorturn hallway walk back to kitchen after a bite of salami return hallway walking toward personal genetic a bedroom entry blinds unroll over down the window clothes gotten out of fast and nothing but a book turning crucifying silence sniffles
next
BOB MARCACCI is a San Francisco Bay Area native presently living and writing in Beijing, China. Recent work has appeared in Andwerve, Issues, MiPoesias, Moria, and Otoliths. I also host the International Literary Open Mic every Wednesday evening at The Bookworm in Beijing.