Book Review for The Republic of Naught:

Subterranean Blue Poetry

Volume I Issue V

Saturday, 2007

They interfaced beautifully

All over the bar:

Lawyers in love,

Cyborgs on the sauce

They exchange fake names

And then they get off

Every nights’ a brand-new

Cold call

She says “Let’s go back to my coffin”

It’s never been so crowded.

He’s hedging his bets

Laying down in traffic

He’s from the South but likes the North’s chances.

Collection agents in love

It’s Christmas in the meat market

Questions like presents

Shimmering baubles

Fanatics without ideology

Pack the boozer to the rafters

without regard for nation

Or century

At the End of a Line

From the end of a line you’ll call


Something basic.

I will borrow your manner


Murmuring something


About the weather here

Or the inconsistencies of the higher ups’ marketing strategy

As we haggle over the price

Over what must surely be an Eiffel Tower

Or some prime swampland

In Cape Breton.

For my part,

I will quiz you for discounts from light years away.

For your part,

You may wish to speak with my superiors-


This is not a democracy, friend.

It is always midnight.

It is always raining.

We will each have something in one another’s world view


Before quitting each other

Along the Jersey Turnpike on a cell phone

Or the former dictators’


Global denizens

At the end of a long, nearly interminable line.

You could be in India.

I could be on Mars.

In thinking so, neither of us would be wrong.

Available at OBOOKO; Philistine Press.

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2012