Nothing Left

Nothing is
always flat-surfaced
lying on the ground,
like an absent rock
that awaits to be
kicked,

and when I come
to turn it over
with curiosity,
expecting to find
something,
perhaps a dead
battery
needing spark
or a peacock
painting its
faded feathers
of black and white,
but again
nothing is there.

Nothing sits
at my table,
always wanting
to eat with me
and share
the time,
but I’ve quickly
tired myself
of this habit,
me being the giver
and she giving
nothing in return.
As if tossing
a washcloth
to swine,
that keep
swimming in mud.

Nothing sleeps
in my bed,
and when I
touch her,
I feel nothing.

But quickly
we’ll soon forget
I in my old age
and nothing
in absentees:
those ash summers
and cold dinners
walks alone along
the pier and
friends that disappear,
the old coats
that kept me warm,
the phantoms
that haunt me
in my home.

- anthony liccione

Fear

The wolves go eating
somewhere behind
every smile,
people slipping in
and out of coffee shops,
mauled malls and death beds,
they go smiling
with a heaven to accept
and a hell elude,
before pages of the mind
go up in flames.

- anthony liccione

twist

this horse
is running away
in fear
from this tornado,
which whips
the wind
with joy-kill
through its fingers,

eating debris
and trees,
telephone poles
and houses,
this horse
has never
seen a tornado
has never ran
after a horse
this tornado,

it runs like
the betting
horse tornado
at the racetrack,
that crashed
five laps in,
where the odds
were fifty to one,
its legs gave out
from under,
the body tumbled,
this horse
broke its neck
against a fence,
after a heart attack
now good
as dog meat

this finger
of God,
moves crosswise
over the dust-
earth chalkboard
erasing what
bemuses him,

swallowing
like a snake
and not caring
what it digests,
this horse
that runs in fear
with nowhere to go,
this torn
ado moves
as if it knows
life is short
fearful
and dreadful.

a farmer
comes fast behind
not interested
in his horse
running in circles,
racing his car
of two hundred
and ten horses
escaping
from the engine,
leaving both
in a cloud.

- anthony liccione

a choice unintended

when they drag him
outside and forsake
his god and strip
him of his rights,
penning the word GAY
on a baseball bat
bashing his hea d ope n
while tossing a cigarette
away half smoked
in hate to a curbside,
yet famished

- anthony liccione

approach to a one night stand

liquor, liquor
how he would like
to lick her toes,
that trip over
his tipsy feet-
have another shot
drink up some more
a toast to your rosy
cheeks, a toast to laughter,
toss away your car keys-
the road looks wavy,
senseless and tempting
lie on the table, couch,
sheets or kitchen counter
have you choice
of some dry wine
for those sweet lips
dance, jingle and touch-
ease a finger unbutton
the top button, or two
tell her she is the only
one, the rare, the few
give her a confident smile
tell her how you love to
watch the lightning thrash
while sitting on a high balcony
of a warm, rainy night
-begin to look attractive to her
pour more wine and unbutton
three, reveal cleavage, pink bra
strap, innocence is best
gaze deep in her drunken glare
and rub her one, eager breast
stick to your guns, and if willing
have her suck you thumb---
strike while the night is yet, numb
and hereafter will be giddily fun.

- anthony liccione

faces

rare and raw
looking to find fault-
world pressed of pressure,
faces of every size, colorless
like drizzle drops of rain
on the window clinging
aloof with no where to go
but a windshield,
a tear of water inches
down connecting like dot-
to-dots growing bigger,

when the arm of God
swishes through-
like lightning, merciless
swiping the slate of glass
clean of his creation

- anthony liccione

Dinner Alas

There is a bird in my grill
There is a bird in my grill-

On my way to the grocery
It was snagged doing sixty,
When its tired wings sank low
Against the wind and drizzle.
Now I can abort my trip
And pry my prey, yet chirps
From the car’s radiator.

There is a bird on my grill,
There is a bird on my grill-

Roasting with seasonings
A dinner to not be passed,
I will feast the barbeque
With a washing of white wine,
Then pick my teeth giddily
From the bone of its soft rib.

But first,
I will gather these leaves
And pray I find a potato
Leap in the stroke of each rake,
Then my meal may be complete.

- anthony liccione

First and More

I wish I were first
for once in life-
this linked line I walk
that feeds off behind
exhaust fumes of others,
someone is always above.

To have the position
of select choice portions-
where bigger is better,
gives meaning to the smallness.
All green lights
down my traveling road,
better views,
closer seats,
paved driveways,
first class,
fresh-dewed grass.

I have a life, sir
it features crawling,
and rasping of grab
and growing hairs.
Listen and feel, madam
my dry skin needs oiling,
bones beneath chatter
to your ghosts of more.
These veins transport
blood like oil pumps.
I do have a name

somewhere lost-
stay, so I may tell you
as I comb and sift through
this grave of gravel through
the pennies and peanuts.
And you will see
buried in the heap,
I do have a name-
somewhere forgotten.

- anthony liccione

Apples & Oranges

Apples and oranges
she and he,
peaches and cream
they seem to be,
minute maid sea.

Almond and chestnut
varnish the stain darker
watch it tarnish
Cherries and apricots
she and me,
pits and seeds
filled our serving bowl.

Lemons and limes
sour divine-sour rinds,
should be a lemon law for love
and the waste of time.

- anthony liccione