Two Poems

by Steven Rineer


What we Hide is What We’ve Lost; An Aubade 

Your skin was peach
  then. Now it’s covered
in purplish liver spots-
   I left you in your hospital 
bed & walked out
   into the dawn.  The sky
turnt barely blue, orange,
  grey, a peach shade

We will never see
  again. I’ve thrown the
color of your babyface flesh
   across the river &
into the sucking mud where
   we’ve hidden nearly all
things: your dentures, my
   wry sense of humor.

The Renaissances

Every city
about to be swallowed-
soon – by Water &
its attendant decay

like Venice has
walls of
chalk one can finger
trace history
on — & we visited
Peggy Guggenheim’s Museum
after St. Marks’ basilica 
& look 
Piet Mondrian 
with the grids & colors passed (passing)

is fast; it is a leaving –.

We are on a high-speed
train to Florence & the
windows are just boxes of color, & not.

Steven Rineer is an office manager who lives in Los Angeles. He has recently been published by Newer York, the Underground Literary Alliance and Subtext.  After graduating from Loyola Marymount with an MA in Literature, he is currently working on a novel and many poems.

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