Three Poems by Bill Jansen

The Riot Kiss

Another Facebook question:
how many single police women
patrol your neighborhood?

Nothing in my neighborhood
but cold evenings and cats
in the heat shadow of my car.

But as I carry out leaking bags
of garbage to the dumpster
I hook up on tear gassed pavements.

It's fun. Under a buffering moon,
the riot of her golden tresses
released from the ominous helmet.





mcsea

that's the score on the tidal range
where water sizzles like chopped onions
where the sunset yawns like a pelican

where a boat slides on horizon grease
and I note the empty future of a crab
dragging away what drags it away

where rocks confident of their social reach
let mussels cling until they super size
and plastic toys burrow into hungry sand.

 



wo ist christi?

"ich bin ein und zwanzig jahre alt
ya, american soldat"

christi wears short skirts
accepts marks and you
pink pseudo champagne

october rain on tables
littered with beer glasses
in downtown stuttgart

a tablet of ROSIMAN NEU
tightens the balls
your concentration

she bites your earlobe

"katze"

a cab ride to the station
at night.



Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove Oregon. His works has appeared in various ezines, including Triggerfish Critical Review and The Centrifugal Eye.