Three poems by Rob Plath

UNTITLED

one dark night of the soul
instructs us more than
10,000 everydays

VICELESS

my ex-vices only fueled
this superabundance
of the blues

WALK ABOUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN, MOTHERFUCKERS

you pass it by

a cat crushed
on the shoulder
of the road
at 10 am

but you know
it isn’t just
a dead cat

it’s a sort of
flat, crystal ball

it’s king of
wizards

offering us only
one vision
which matters

no wonder my father was an ogre by Rob Plath

my father’s stepfather
used to stab his hand
w/a fork if my father
reached across for something
at the dinner table
w/o asking first
etc…

my father never met
his real father
my grandmother divorced
him when my father
was one years old
b/c she found out he
was married to two
women at once
no-one saw him after
that

first the black vacuum
of absence

then the sharp
prongs of presence

the double yoke of
nothingness & blood