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Five Poems
by Mark Leidner


This Mine

At this mine these miners lost everything good,
everything deep, everything meaningful, deep
in those shafts they chose to hew up. The main,
smart miners might as well have not mined one
single thing for the catalogue of things they lost
to the evacuative pressures of Earth's bowels in
this mine that they shucked at, split up, carved up,
carved away at, and were chiseling toward, which
were vitreous and spiky, and sometimes: even lava.
Once a very spiritual miner found this one great,
splendid, extraordinary item, totem, or Indian force
very deep in an ore or in that ore's lode or in its vein,
but it almost killed him, splattering his miner blood
all over a black load bucket, and then it did kill him.
Whatever it was it was too big and too good. That
was a stupid miner, said that miner's foreman. This
man was an idiot miner, as far as that miner's foreman
was concerned, said another miner, quoting that miner's
foreman. Generally, God, you had to believe them all.


The Awesomest Bagel

It's this nice 'everything' bagel
with a fat chicken salad dollop
dollopped on it nicely, too, first,
and on top of that chicken salad,
these eight tiny strips of tender
bacon, and then there's a level of
cheddar bubbling because it's been
grilled, and some finely cut strips
of steak also embedded inside the
cheddar, and on top of that's two
big slices of tomato, and one ounce
of shred Shitake mushrooms, the
awesomest bagel ever, you're not
supposed to sleep with a woman
unless you love her, and these
green Mexican chive-things
sprinkled on top of it all.
So fucking awesome.

Horror Mansion

I want to direct a movie
that worries you. Hiccups,
nervous coughing, and splattering
tea on your thighs are the best
responses you have still, according
to my flickering psychology. Horror
Mansion will be the name of the movie,
because I love you so much.


real late last night sandra day

real late
last night
sandra day
o connor
came to
me in
a dream
and said
you don't
even know
what i
look like
do you

Bolivia

The worst thing
about living
in Bolivia is

the haunting omnipresence
of the shadow
of Simón Bolivar.

The best thing
about living
in Bolivia is

every midnight
getting to sit up
and whisper

Christ,
these Bolivian
nightmares.