Throwing Rakes at the Sun-poem by Ron Androla

Not specified Halsband - Måne med snirklar Kedja “Hotcoffee or cold tea?” Ann asks. I don't know. I can't decide. I want clarity, focus, new things spinning in a spring roll of manybirds– poems. “Both?”I respond. She grins. I'm confused. I need a singular poem. A plural mirror of life. I grab this poem's throat with a monster lobster hand, shake it, & say “Fuck you, poem, fuck you.” I'm burning half of a century of obstinate poetry. I want to taste a quiet picture, quenched by a selfless cerebral smile. I release all language as trees of words fracture like black branches of snowflakes, fly like swirling Kansas xanax dust. Ann places a glass of iced tea on a cloth coaster on my desk. She kisses the right side of my beard; barbed hooks pull at my taffy-aged brain. Poem by Ron Androla Drawing by Janne Karlsson Hey, Svensk Apache Press has treasure chest crammed with great literature. Like BURN with John Yamrus for example. You might wanna purchase a copy at Stay cool.  /Janne