Ron Androla

Ron is a poet living in Erie, PA.

http://www.the-hold.com/ronandrola/ -- newest website

http://enhancedphotos.com/cgibin/board/view.cgi -- ron androla's pressure

press presents

spores

puff from skyscape clouds

over the great lakes basin

infectious molecules

twinkle down thru morning air

silver dust

rain

we board up

the house from inside

electricity remains

on a few days

it's a diseased

city with rescuers

in white

space-suits talking

thru their

helmets & the wood

we wrap

ourselves in wet bedsheets

cellophane-wrap

our eyes

grab their

clean food & jugs of

fresh water

we stay sealed

& slowly

mutate

stopping eternity

it's usually this way on a saturday

morning. i'm in my room writing

on a laptop & ann's in the other room

typing on our dell. dog's in there

with her while the cat mews

between rooms. lamps

burn in gray daylight.

birds sound like monkeys

in erie. churchbells

are long holes in hours.

i'm smoking,

fed,

caffeine-punctuated,

feeling

words under my fingers

feather & flutter,

little fuckers,

bastards of my mind.

the next to last poem

the next to last poem

is dedicated to sylvia plath

the next to last poem

assumes whitman is in heaven

the next to last poem

is mostly a big sneeze

the next to last poem

is a tiny molecule of a dead whale

the next to last poem

is a final mutation

the next to last poem

weeps goodbye

the next to last poem

is a ghost pulse

the next to last poem

preens with misery

the next to last poem

weaves around eight fingers

the next to last poem

is a bullfight on the moon

the next to last poem

is a hesitating no not yet

the next to last poem

plays banjo on top of mount everest

the next to last poem

parts the fucking red sea