Dina and Dan Finger

THE MOVIE THEATER GOERS

And Steve woke in the morning with her arms.

His were lying by the window, stale.

A bout of eating and drinking had made his face bloated.

Spring stole into, clattering down

And broke across the floor, such lethargied wonders.

The red sea is not red but water colored

And the thought I had, Steve thought

Were hiccups, stolen, crocheted, ill dukes.

You were always wearing puka shells. You. 

No, not wearing. But a kind of wearing down-

Ward. Steven proceeded like a torrent

Which was to become the like instrument

Of a stream, down a mountain,

Yet it shouldn't quite be overpowering.

He opened the window. And now you're ready

BEER BREAKFAST

Only that the sound of a virgin

Crying was its breaking down

This is only the perverse spreading of the nomadic scene

But had you been honest

Then everything would've formidably sounded

In feverish rush, like praise

Different from what you had said it was in the beginning

When it was winter, and the instrument of snow

Was a ghost and very critical of what praise.

And down the road the suburban teen came

And near the empty street his sneakered step sped

While the telephone wires whispered above him

To trees in which the wind had stopped, at this point

Very much like a person who mid meal vomits.

Now all the past is different. It has the advantage of not being

Without having changed. A man struggles onto the shore

And thanks the heavens that matters are no worse.

Sure the blood rushes headlong everywhere it shouldn't

But it is as though I have no other choice. Steve is discovered

By his violent mother rummaging through his dad's casket.

They carry on a conversation by candle light.