Jack Galmitz

ImPress New York, New York

Shadows Copyright © 2013 by ImPress
all right reserved

― We never understand each other.” “As soon as we start putting our thoughts into words and sentences everything gets distorted, language is just no damn good—I use it because I have to, but I don’t put any trust in it. Marcel Duchamp

Sanctuary a rock without a face

Statuary immaculate nudes

human silence

Diamonds on velvet rice in a barrel

Tarot cards turning up Il Matto

Matter matters

Field of phlox shoulders of rocks

birdsong an electric recording

Red leaf than water

a foothold a foal

2ʺ thick ice blurry pronged stick

reading a quatrain jingling quarters

a weeping man steam driving the piston rods of the train

marching music one step behind

jade saw the forest

a day by the sea blue velvet dreams

The bout is stopped shadow boxing myself

crested wave to the shore it came

walking on the street looking for the curve

the square root of one that’s how it is with us

I’m going to going, too

By the gravestone a room of my own

nothing to say fireflies outside

shadow a person

now that I’m here how do I reach you

Today I thought about yesterday

extempore playing shuttlecock with a stranger

cuts in the canvas emphatically prove its canvas

the duffel bag bulges with them

You go where I say do you obey

Morning glories ignore the sign Beware of Dog

pricked by a rusty hook I had a tetanus shot

No one comes leaves

engaged I bring the motor to bed

not my laces o not my laces

Boxcars loaded with graffiti

Low tide pilings exposed for what they are

The P.O. (Most Wanted)

compound noun lampshade(of human skin)

a rose between her legs

I’m more or less

Night love theft fight

The clock chimes something happens

Three wanting him to leave he stays

wearing it out Time

A:You’re not alone B: I want more

A:The United States B: Really?

Back Seat O, the horses

Father had his wish fulfilled the Yankees triumphed

Concepts shadows

lying on the couch waiting for the seconds coming

Remember to forget

(For Frank O’Hara) Is it the dark theater The boy’s face fixed on moving pictures

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