Three Poems
Douglas Piccinnini

Church Pants

electrical discharge on the tip the way

reaching a familiar then

in retrieval
a presentation about info.


mature fatigue

thrice shot into two holes.

Warm holes. A magnum wand
dragged through the sooty bottom.

Shrank into beers, shrank. The sea
snapped timbers.


and with torque the light
she began to speak

with her hands how

her mother wanted

at home mostly, to live some-
where, near her streets

with her cars, her lights
behind the hill that went
in success like a star
put off.

Feeling Intimacy

At dusk there shuffled in

the steaming ledge. He
arrived with spurs chilly
to touch. A hit of interest

stung his face.
Well then, there's evening.


The next night the view
came into emptying

sparks of dirt in dull shine.

He fell intently to bed, pale,
moving typically as ice

in the hand moves away
into a damp towel.