THE TOP

Here is this card.
Rewrite that skin.
Kind. Just one that's
fine for just one
unit in bounds
of skin. Tan, grey
Pink, bluish, green.

It reverses.
I was told it
would last longer.
Naturally now
it’s different.
Backwards regard
Thinking just this:

First they go, then
I go, now you
go through it. Stunt
folk committed
to this region.
The stuntwoman
next. I go through,

wait, yes, now you.
Come on, come on.
Go faster you
are the same folk
going and what’s
with your move west?
What? You cashed out?

Now I go. No.
I've swept your porch
and killed your bugs.
Overloaded.
With what? with what?
Domestic work?
Required work

We all must learn
the frame of mind
of the top. False.
I was on top,
a thick shadow
who didn't know.
The past. Former

incarnation.
A dry brush burned.
Calcined ashes.
See the dead wolf.
A line of phlox
carries the charge
down. The acid
in it is mine.

And that charge and
light embody
desire. More
gathers out of
misunderstanding.
And the river.
Wait, now it’s safe.

Go find ash. Goal
a soulful shared.
neutrality
You were on top
too, as I saw it.
The last bit of
acid marries salt.

Ill, overly
concerned with self.
These new bosses
why feel them now?
Is your beloved
money touching
me? Are you strictly

speaking local?
Where in the past
were you, dear boss?
The so-called stars
do not get shot
with you. Glamour
the massy peaks

who each need each.

WISH AMONG THE MOSQUITO SWARM

If  we’re         connected   by                    blood.  

They       should                          know          me 

I                          imagine this is                   how  

one    finds                                   them       after 

so                   long                                   absent  

in   the                         so called                 flesh.  

Your            face             or your personal name  

overwritten almost totally.                         I hear 

other                            people’s grief cry     out  

like       it is in love.                              Can’t I? 

And   if                     I   perceive             people  

who       are wiser,                           more kind, 

flowing under.      the faces of    acquaintances  

in little minutes   why does          it never work 

in real time?        One     can’t seem t o  handle  

juicy details.  Or vice versa.                    Could  

I ever be a wish?          A host?     Cultivated? 

The strangers in the static.        Infra feeling? 

In the soles of your feet.   A start.              I am  

nobody too.      Nobodies talk.    Red       feet.  

Hands off.  And                My Wish Animating  

towards someone rare.   A strategy.  A  Being.            

Ish Klein is a writer and performer. They are the author of four poetry books the latest of which is The New Sun Time. Ish also wrote the plays The Orchids, Hits, "In A Word, Faust", The Dee Men and The Restless Leg.  Their poems and plays have been published in The Cambridge Literary Review, Gare du Nord, Versal, Fence, Oversound, Denver Quarterly, What Happens and are upcoming in the Bennington Review, Annulet and the Cleveland Review of Books. Ish is a founding member of the Connecticut River Valley Poets Theater and Anthology Poets Theatre. They live in Kalamazoo with writer Greg Purcell and dog Ted, where they produce and host  "Wrestling with Poetry.”  Access it freely: youtube.com/@wrestlingwithpoetry