Joseph German

is a cool guy. Funny. Wonderful poet, too.

Evidence:




Blues

Sarah stopped playing
and I looked up as if
the moon was screaming from the top floor
in the red vacuum of alpine rescue ladders,
and somebody opened the window, I thought
so I could dream Jacob's dream, so I could breath
like smiling dalmations on the long folded back
of all our desperate fire engines. Sarah stopped
the music, and all my bells and whistles
hid between a fold of smoke and red search-lights,
playing go fetch with english pace-makers like
desperate dalmations as the moon rolled by.
She stopped and I watched the concert ladders fold
back into lunar vacuums of ivory and smoke
as the stoplights began to scream, english organized
in the breathless telescope of my ebony window
where the dream dalmations howl. The moon rock
stopped as silence poured

golden over the red, golden on the light, golden
down the pillar at the base of Jacob's vow.
She prayed, a long quiet into the smiling vacuum.
Sarah, she prayed bells. She sang Jesus is the rock
and he rolls my blues away.