Leveler Poetry Journal
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Long Island Goodnight

I’m a tropical Capricorn

having been rinsed (a weird word)

of snow, too low to let mountaintops

powder my nose. You,

a green acre,

bewitching; I love you like jet black flint.

There are and there are and there are

a myriad mirror marathon reasons why

the millions exist: the first, a curl

the second, a sale

the third, a drum

the fourth, the fifth

the random mixed words

in a cockatiel cocktail, birdie.

Sing! Sing per sip, sing a song

of melted ice and debauched dancing,

debutchered lyrics and debaucherous debutantism.

Stoicize the drum

let it hit

snap snare

here and here and here (hear my ribs?)

and turn a steak into a toon tune

and turn up


turn up


turn up


turn up

until down is one option

and nothing else is

in our mountaintop lemon drop.

Sail away, Pyrenees! Let us sweat, Alps!

Only Olympus Mons will stop us now

as we sail away to our long island getaway

to say hello to Odysseus and all those others

unable to put down the lees they’re drinking life to.

If I hand you the keys, honey,

will you drive the comb? The hive

is so close, we are so close, you are my island.

Christopher Keller