Paul Brucker

Paul Brucker
“was active in the Washington, DC, poetry scene in the early 1980s, I put a lid on poetry writing to go to Northwestern University’s graduate advertising program to earn a decent income. Nevertheless, I have succumbed to writing poetry again. I have been published recently in “The Fishbowl Review,” “The Decadent Review,” “Prachya Review,” “Coffin Bell,” “Ray’s Road Review,” “The Bangalore Review” and the anthology, “The Pagan’s Muse: Words of Ritual, Invocation and Inspiration.””

Wisps

A beautiful day like today
upland, yellow-eye
melodies of a man drowning in flames or holiness
and all he did was sew buttons and talk
wide-open goggling eyes, like cows on hillsides,
with no revelations left to reveal,
no beliefs

Green pears that ripe in infinite complexity
and hang in a dry kind of death
to honor the fixed and waterless clouds,
devotees to death who use long words
wrongly stressed to affirm our love,
witlessly, monotonously unenlightened,
unspooling the carnage of creation,
as we search for who we love in sun, mist or snow

How small they look onshore
hitch-hiking along route 81 south of Syracuse
A beautiful day for people to become landscape
clumsy, obeying the laws,
waiting for the light to change
and scatter wisps of intensity
left behind

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