Author Archives: Stanley S. Smith

Fine Suit Junkies

FINE SUIT JUNKIES “The omnibus empties And refills. In the exchange he is deposited Amidst the temples of downtown. Bleating lamb or scaped goat Who shied thy eyes And took they tongue? Who formed the sinews That make thee run? Insurance clerk or Under writer Either title to be reckoned with; He drops his hat […]

H.M. on the bus to work

“A mini skirt approaches Hoisting herself into a sitting position Opposite his own. ‘I would follow the line to laughter, But the battle might turn Grimm.” The bus trip always took the same streets, made the same turns at the same corners, and the same stops at the same signs. According to H.M.’s watch, the […]

Styx and stones may break my bones

“I cannot bring myself to do it; I cannot bring myself.” And yet he does. Finding a token for the fare man. “Styx and stones may break my bones,” He hunches his body against the Window Watching the shadows reflected on the Glass wall. “I have been a journeyman drawing in The water; Cast now […]

Cross Town

Cross Town Morning, And back to back the Sabbaths Ignore each other into night. It’s workaday, workaday And the perilous journey cross town. Cross town Without a star, Cross town, Where the hill has been consumed, Cross town Where the modern buffalos hunt him Sorting fumes, screeching at each other. There is an eight hour […]

The long dark channel

The Hunched Man stumbles in the passageway, A long dark channel, out of the waters and into the light. He pictures with his eyes the shapes of hunting: The famine mystique, The whiskey fed man, The curled and dangerous totems of his tribe. For H.M. life felt like a series of dark channels leading to […]

Are the commandments always the same?

“The shoe Forks Lightening And Thunder From the Mountain While two hands full Of sentences, indeterminate in duration, Count them, One for each finger (But nothing for my toes) Come tumbling down Down, Down softly to float on undivided waters To fill our pillows And to make tickings in our ears. They need neither stone […]

Break fast, the morning, mourning meal

“Breakfast But the words ran together Leaving him without their meaning Or intent. A scrambled egg and a mother’s milk, Some caffeine to jangle the sensibility; One screaming head line Inked To act as spur Set him afoot and restless in our Common world. “Would we really know ourselves?” Here, shake hands with the devil. […]