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Clade Song 4

“A hand-me-down dress from who knows where/ To all tomorrow’s parties.”—Lou Reed

It’s easy to predict the future:
Death is hidden
in every watch
I’ve ever stared at, steady
but never waiting.
These days, though, who wears a watch?
There’s too much time
spent honeying the past,
nostaligizing sorrow and sadness
as a righteous blast.
All tomorrow’s parties
inevitably turning into yesterday’s empties,
empty, empty,
waiting to be recycled.
My spirit animal
is a poorly paper mached piñata
in the shape of a pony.
Colored green and white
and yellow and red,
it’s filled
to its fat forehead
with crisp $100 bills.
In this unseasonable summer
wind my spirit
animal is whipping
so violently
back and forth
that I’m afraid
to swing at it.
My heart is in my throat,
my bat in the failure
of my fingers’ shaky hands.




Jeff Alessandrelli Jeff Alessandrelli is the author of the little book Erik Satie Watusies His Way Into Sound (Ravenna Press) and three chapbooks, including Don't Let Me Forget To Feed The Sharks (Poor Claudia). His work has appeared in Denver Quarterly, Pleiades, DIAGRAM, Redivider, Salt Hill, Western Humanities Review, Gulf Coast and Boston Review, among others. THIS LAST TIME WILL BE THE FIRST (2014), from Burnside Review Press, is his first full length collection of poetry.