by: Kostas Anagnopoulos
Kostas Anagnopoulos’ three prose poems use dream logic and word play, but always for our own good. The diction here is calm, because the poet’s vision is sure, and presents us with truth: sometimes “[a]ll we can do is wait for the bus.”
In one ear out the other but a clear view of the river when the sun goes
down. It comes right back up among churches stacked along the avenue.
Certain friends, inanimate ones, disappoint. Other people are out there who
need you. No response. Why? You tell yourself you’re going to reply on
letterhead. You never do. The messages keep piling up and you are farther
and farther away from them. Much needs to be done. In the other ear.
All the things you want to say but can’t. All the things you regret having said.
I’d love to but. . . The blind leading the mice. Plenty of time to think, we
think, but then there’s a flood. And the scraps for the compost are too big. I
forgot how to write with a pencil. Don’t you worry. We’re resigned to the
feeling. Passing the time. You nod off into the abyss, leaving your books
behind. It hurts to type, to compose. I’m going to burst now. Mice eaten by
Nerves have long endings. Like life, (death). Thoughts are short. These
particular thoughts are uncomfortable. I wore those shoes until they died. I
put them down. It was a struggle. At the bus stop people’s thoughts are on
their faces. None are wearing shoes. They just show up, no one I know.
These days everyone’s a photographer. Some even wear shoes. I’m just
kidding. We’re told to avoid conflict. We try to look each other in the eye. It’s
a struggle. There’s a whole lot of flinching going on. There’s no telling what
will become of us. All we can do is wait for the bus.
Kostas Anagnopoulos is the founder and editor of Insurance Editions. He has published four chapbooks. Night Loop, his latest chapbook is forthcoming in late spring. His full-length book, Moving Blanket, was published in 2010 by Ugly Duckling Presse. He lives and works in Queens, NY.