Poetry by Alex Stolis
Apology
The saxophone is by far
the loneliest instrument,
it's neck craned
to see the lover that never calls.
The saddest moment is a train
as it stands waiting to hear the whistle.
These two days are the widest,
Tuesday with its delicate modernism
and Thursday with its moist lips.
The blankest page
is chapter one of any book,
the finest taste is the rain
as it rolls off skin.
The brightest colors are red
shining off the mast of the Olympia
sailing past Gibraltar one last time and
purple, the loud angry voice
of exhaust rolling from the back of a BMW.
The longest day of the year is August 10th,
the day Ramona walked two flights
to Seventh Street with half pack of Marlboro Lights,
a full suitcase and the phone number
for the Chicago Hilton.
The music that feels most lost
is first, the Blues with its long fingers
and wind colored notes; second
would be Classical
and the way its blonde hair
whispers a secret.
The shallowest water is Lake Michigan
hiding the bones of heroes,
bending crooked
the spines of unmade villains;
the deepest is the Thames,
where lost wreckage and blind mermaids
mingle in water colored blue,
then purple, then black, then green.
The quietest moment is waiting.
Four Stanzas of Depression
I
It's never cinematic
or where you think it should be;
water pushes air towards your mouth
and you're the only one that knows
how difficult it is to look
into those Liz Taylor eyes.
II
It's hard to live on 20 dollars a day
when the only green on the whole block
is a small potted plant in the sill of Apt #9.
Monday tastes bitter on the tongue
and your cheeks are purple under the moon.
III
White sheets crest like the desert,
a noose around the broken red
hours; the beating of her heart
is repeated to anyone that will listen.
IV
It sounds like a Dylan song
forced through the hall, down
the barrel of your loaded throat.
A man and a woman lie together,
they are one; they are two, they
get distracted by comfort.
About the Author
Alex Stolis lives and works in Minneapolis,
MN.
