Three Poems
Derek Owens

In Swedenborg's Heaven


every soul sinks or
rises to its own
level

singing:
gypsie hearts are many / but gypsie feet are few

(the murdered mom's bones
from cellar to attic and back

and now Sandy's
looking bitter: "Linda's
living in a world that doesn't
touch ours anymore. . ."

Jesus
Christ! Belay
that winchin'
will ye


He Ain't Skeered

-- You fellers been Maypole dancing?

It's called in-depth research
asshole.

Suicides always
"come back"


"There Are Levels Past Which Things No Longer Connect"
(Warren Zevon)



we're here to give
whispered the Dream Cadets
casting their Etch-a-Sketches
into the bay

dolphins off Cape
Canaveral sleeping one
hemisphere at a time

paramecium, paramecia