Aaron Koppel's poems

Here are a few poems from my friend Aaron who joined us at Milady's.

Boone’s Crossing

There is rock, and here is rock
With no stems at the seams.
A forest hidden in fruit,
My branches to the lanes.

Median.

There is rock, and here is rock
That faintly holds the root
Of this cedar pole.
The city vacates my wiring,
Sprouting past the borderland.

White Russians

I edge my foot out to the night
And, as he falls draping drunk all against me,
I remove my fists from pockets
To strike him, to make him quit,
Forming the shape of a star.
He’s got to quit. He’s got to quit again and again.
Look through the wound.
There’s the lining of his cheek,
Left with tonight’s milk and what else.
The line of cups follow me home,
They make me live in half circles.