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could be verse: January 2008

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Disposing of the dead. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. January 9, 2008. Disposing of the dead. I thought we'd sent you to the winds in a spray of acceptance. After which we all went our ways and made our days without you. But who knew I had mummified and stashed you beneath the floorboards. Of my inmost name? Not even I, not even I, until. My own end loomed at last and I was forced to ruminate. Staring straight at me with lips shaped as a why.

mtverse.blogspot.com

could be verse: May 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. May 17, 2007. Spun off from the eddy of faith. My bark, like a bottle enclosing an old note,. Wallows awhile in the backwater shallows,. Righting itself for what’s next. Then, in the becalming the becoming:. An oarsman of reason evolves,. Pulling stroke after logical stroke. Fearless toward the Bright-troubled sea. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

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could be verse: February 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. New day’s resolution. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. February 6, 2007. New day’s resolution. For me a new year is not 365 stepping stones. For becoming something more than you are,. It's a grid of holes punched out. In orderly rows like the grate of a storm sewer. Over which passes a torrent of moments. Some vanish into the holes,. Some slop onto the spaces between. And these sluices make up the flow of moments. As who I am just now. Troubl...

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could be verse: October 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. October 31, 2007. Lyrics to a song. Written many years ago but still apropos.). You were saying that you knew my mind, that it’s special. The two of us knew better than them all. Such an old line but I’d spend all my time. Listening to you lie. I didn’t see the storm brewing,. I forgot you were only human. And I missed that you were screwing up my life. The counterfeit is plain to see after all. October 1, 2007.

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could be verse: September 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. September 1, 2007. Here I am again. At the house of the parents of my middle-aged friends. Such a breathless spell about it,. A silent waiting for tragedy. Under the cheery chat of a Sunday afternoon dinner,. The reassurance that everyone has a place at the table. And just possibly a place forever —. If at least one of us can. Master the secret of eternal life. And rescue the rest. And play the thinking game,.

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could be verse: April 2008

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Out of the nest. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. April 14, 2008. Out of the nest. All allure when first I met you,. Immense and grave you drew me in. My sole companion in the art of the new,. And like baby to breast I took hard to you. But later you soured, you dried up. You cast me off to practice. You were dying and I didn’t know it. But now I do and I thank you. For sending me away so as not to die with you. With nothing to worship. Dumbs...

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could be verse: January 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Isaac and the kid in heaven. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. January 31, 2007. Isaac and the kid in heaven. When I saw the knife. I knew too much to be fearless. He’d been so weird on that trip up. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right, Dad said. But something was wrong. Something. Had to be killed. But all we’d packed was wood. I’d seen animals sacrificed before:. Slit the throat and light a fire. Everything is all right after that.

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could be verse: March 2007

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Poetry by Mario Tosto. Sign up for update notification via Bloglines. View my complete profile. March 13, 2007. Awakened by death prowling the halls. I note neither of us is dead yet. And so I reach over and touch you lightly,. Not for conversation but. Like a miser in his vault. To tally the unfair excess of. Which we forget or pretend not to have. When the poverty of egonomics. Makes us act like assholes or strangers. Or rats on a wheel treading each moment. As a clone of the last. I gloat well knowing.