Shooting Stars

Shooting Stars

From the depth of the speckled sky
travelers arc through their lonely plans
The tumble becomes a lifetime
of senselessness in the dark
Nearer the glow of distant heat
they shed their insensitive skins
Their cells leave a trail of identity
some would classify as dust
The children of this body
ready themselves for their day
when they are seen in glory
crossing a sky giving vision
to a being who understands
the motherhood of gravity

Barry G. Wick

After Receiving A Robocall in Chinese

After Receiving A Robocall in Chinese

(Possible translation)

American imperialist dog
we call you today
to thank you for
answering our call
We know you don't speak
our Chinese dialect
which means
you don't understand
a word we are saying
We could say we want
your eyeballs
to make our
five spice powder
We could say
we're ready to put
MSG on your privates
We could use your doctors
in forced labor
to make shoes
We offer our prisoner's
kidneys lungs and hearts
to replace your failed organs
Our waiters will treat
you like dirt
while you eat noodles made
of sawdust and ground dogs
Trip over the curb
because you stupid Americans
walk with your cell phone
in hand
listening to this call
and watching porn
Now
buy five Uighurs or Kazakhs
for the amazing low price
of just nine ninety-five plus tax
Shipping not included.
Have a nice day


Barry G. Wick

A Vision

A Vision

I walk along the river
Sun sparks light up the surface
My friend will meet me here
His long black hair sways
with his stride of purpose
He has brought his sitar
Soon a woman with a tambura
and a young athletic man
with his tabla and rough fingers
A small tree hangs over the river
swaying in a gentle trill of air
This is where I am four days
Each day they show up to play
I forget to eat
I forget to drink
Finally my mouth dries
and my stomach is a burning match
Someone brings milk
Here is rice and vegetables
How do I repay this vision
How do I seal it to what is reason
These minutes beg my attention
as I cool my feet in imagined water
and the love of this universe


Barry G. Wick

Late Hours

Late hours

This head hangs low
as its eyes stare at the trunks
of  leg
All this rests on them
Later in the darkness of hours
they will pull this body
from bed with its sheets
creased into green on green
folds that mark this back
and the legs
Then to seek sips of water
to cool a mouth dried by breath
hotter than air that surrounds
a body uncovered by blankets
that lay pushed to the edges
kicked by dreams
of forests and holes so deep
they are unguarded
in the curves of roads
that scale the mountains
or jump to an apartment
looted by strangers
that wakes the sleeper
with screams of loss


Barry G. Wick