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

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 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

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          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

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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.