The HUMAN CANNONBALL

I only knew him as an old man, after his circus days were long gone. When I visited him at his little acre by the pond, he would tell me stories and show me pictures and on sunny days we would go out to the field. He kept the cannon under tarps and ever so gingerly he would crawl inside. When he gave the word, I would light the fuse and I would hold my ears and watch for a glimpse of him going by in the sky.

BERT from MONTANA

He would arrive in the summer in a big white station wagon that had rolled 1000 miles. We’d be on the sidewalk, ready to start all over. For me it was always imaginary, for Bert it was talk. Even at 10, he was already talking like a salesman, telling us how things were done in Montana and how Seattle had a lot to learn. He took over whenever he got out of that Chevrolet and all I could do was play along.

The POND BALLET

The pond stood up out of a hole and left behind the mud and cattails. It stumbled and sloshed with every step. A puddle stuck to each footprint it placed. There were some fish in the moonlight circling inside of the pond. It was careful though not to be seen. It wanted to be quiet. It walked on tip toes, as gracefully as it could. Some more water spilled. It was like two people carrying a heavy aquarium.

The ORSON WELLES CINEMA

Night and the lights of Cambridge were candlewax splashes. Massachusetts is covered with water, slush on the street and the sidewalk leading to it. In those days there were rusty pipes laid underground. A skilled plumber could tap into one, Bergman, Fellini, or Ozu. Movies would gush out in a bright flame that had to be captured and tamed into a river of light. They had to be handled carefully, I once saw Jean Renoir catch on fire, melt to the screen like a pressed flower.

another book lurks

Hello. I've written 103 new little story poems from January until now. I'd say that's enough for a book.

A BETTER, MORE PEACEFUL WORLD

A large moth knocked on the door today. I could see his antennas and fedora through the little window, but I opened the door anyway. What the hell. Let me tell you, there’s no way to prepare yourself for the sight of a 6-foot moth in brown suit trying to hand you a brochure about a better, more peaceful world.

BUNNY WAILER