Three Poems
Derek Owens

In Swedenborg's Heaven

every soul sinks or
rises to its own

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. . ."

Christ! Belay
that winchin'
will ye

He Ain't Skeered

-- You fellers been Maypole dancing?

It's called in-depth research

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