Iíd Rather Not Have the ďBeingĒ Talk While Eating

Woodchuck, Iím an island.
No person is an island.  Iím an island.
Back in the twelfth century
impulses werenít really written down.
The seers just bingoed around and called
on the bricklayers to sort it out.
Nowadays you and I are building
elaborate constructions,
but having a hard time making sleep.
Letís leave behind the golf course
and swim downstream
to the boarded up movie theater.
The slippery voice in the water will lead us.
Howler monkeys are quilted into the trees.
Iím getting hungry for the second
time today.  Melody greets our ears
with a lovely beach ball grace,
thereís tall architecture rising straight outta
the river.  Iím on one side and youíre
on the other as we ankle into the water.


Jason received an MFA from the New Writers Project at the University of Texas at Austin.  Recent poems have appeared in Whiskey Island, Smoking Glue Gun, 90ís Meg Ryan, and elsewhere.