James Shea


Poor Ear, Mine Own Instrument

A note held for a lifetime,

 

an experimental sound

 

at a constant pitch as if I were

 

constituted by piercing.

 

Fresh Report

I am here in 

 

the disaster area,

 

the prescribed

 

zone of the disaster,

 

so for those of

 

you not here,

 

please be assured 

 

that you are not

 

experiencing 

 

a disaster for only

 

those in the radius 

 

of the disaster can

 

anyone be said

 

to be suffering

 

from the disaster.

 

Saccade

Grandmother’s funeral rites: bad vaudeville.

 

The binocular salesman had an owl-like face.

 

My signature is a zigzag.

 

A few new circumstances can change the future.

 

The future can change the past. 

 

Something inherently elegiac about reversals.

 

God is infinite, like money.

 

I can’t say anything accurate and universal at the same time.

 

Except that everyone sleeps.

 

The new normal is an ancient strange.

 

Join my company: pay’s at half pay.

 

Only adults giggle nervously.

 

I sit at the bar, fingering my iPad.

 

Hang tight means to hang loose.

 

Writing a poem is like the moment in a musical when people go suddenly from talking to singing. 

 

The sea of time entails an oarsman.

 

The sea of time entails an astrolabe, a skiff.

 

Rich kids don’t drown, I heard once.

 

I want a God that humans can punish.

 

Archangel

I spoke against

 

the circumference

 

around me, but

 

I was unheard of.

 

When it came

 

to the masters,

 

I was unread.

 

They didn’t read me.

 

I hope to make

 

a good companion

 

out of myself

 

after I’m dead.

 

Open Source Apology

There’s a rotating restaurant on top of that building.

Everyone looks up. 

It doesn’t seem to be moving, are you sure?

Yes, I’ve eaten there myself. It moves very slowly.

Everyone looks up again.

I don’t see any movement. 

Well, fix your eye on something and see if it moves.

Yeah, I did and I don’t see anything happening.

I’m telling you it’s a rotating restaurant.

Maybe they’re closed and not rotating now.

But I can see people near the window. 

It must be open because the lights are on.

Well, it’s not moving for me.

There’s an abandoned swimming pool at the top.

And the glass elevator is amazing. 

You can see the entire city rise up from it. 

Sometimes I just take the elevator for the view.

I say, ‘Oh, sorry, I’m on the wrong floor,’ and go back down.

 

Author Bio:

James Shea is the author of two books, The Lost Novel and Star in the Eye. A recipient of grants from the Fulbright U.S. Scholar Program, National Endowment for the Arts, and the Vermont Arts Council, he teaches at Hong Kong Baptist University.