Over Conversation

by Bill Rasmowicz

Not everything dreams.
By the time the arsenal is built, it is expired.

Someone is always seeking an ethos to bleed.
Nausea occurs even via placebo.
In this life, you must have the tenacity of a tic
with mammoth tusks.

Still, a leaf grazing the pavement mimics
a door creaking open. Eventually, the mystery
of being alone consumes itself.
There are no other eras.

Filed away as memory, memory dissipates
into atmosphere. Then why shouldn’t speech
from one latitude to another,
between us,
appropriate the muscularity of clouds?

What throbs in the bushes is not a bird,
but bird-like, neither gravity nor mystique.
Something pulls us so,

and closer to admiration for the tirelessness
of weeds, for the falling world.


Migrations Wrested

Dust of a Dessicated Horse



Bill Rasmowicz Bill Rasmovicz is the author of The World in Place of Itself (Alice James Books, 2007), which won the New England Poetry Club’s Shelia Margaret Motton Prize. His poems have appeared in Hotel Amerika, Nimrod, Mid-American Review, Third Coast, Gulf Coast, and other publications. Bill has served as a workshop co-leader and literary excursion leader throughout Switzerland, Italy, Croatia, Slovenia, Germany, England, and Wales. A graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA in Writing program and Temple University School of Pharmacy, he lives in Brooklyn, NY.