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Four Poems by Rob Plath.


changing my address at the bank


while changing my address
at the bank i notice
the clipboard i signed in on is square
the desk tops are square
the partitions are made up
of three upstanding squares
the computer monitors are flat & square
the filing cabinets are stacks of
four squares
the picture frames are square
the diplomas are square
the ceiling tiles are square
every thing is made up of right angles
everything is closed in by four sides
like a television screen
like a tray in an operating room
like a jail cell
like a corral
like a casket
like a 6 foot hole




dead man waiting


i sit in this electric chair
day in & day out
my own skull the cap & wires
my own flesh the blindfold
i sit in this electric chair
through circular saw blade afternoons
strapped in by the meat of my own wrists & ankles
sweating & waiting for the final charge
i sit in this electric chair
through rat razorblade nights
nimble nicotine fingers just loose enough
to stroke the keys
as i wait for the fist shaped switch
in my chest to be thrown




evening itinerary jotted in journal


cooking homemade
black bean soup
mid may
windows fogged
from pot's steam
rub back door window
with elbow
colored paper lanterns
hang wet with last
night's rain
this evening after sun
dries everything
will open wine
eat delicious soup
on small stone
flick switch
to light lanterns
& sip wine
beneath drooping
of tiny planets




just below the lapels


he knows
how to
tie a
windsor knot

the finishing
on his $2,500
armani suit

& he knows
a lot about

that's his

but he doesn't
know that
he has twenty-four
in his

he doesn't
know those
bones beneath
his lapels
move 5 million
times a year
from breathing

a line

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