Jeff Schiff

Featured image: from series “Transitory Space”  © Leah Oates 2020

There are those
            who exist in the safety of homage
                        lives lived in honor of others
Elvis say or James Dean
            the soul’s velvet art
                        peddled and paid for
at the intersection
            of Route 12 and
I’ve got mouths to feed
            And there are others
                        less able to drift from
the brain’s brain
            intent on sizing it all up—
                        knowledge birthed and bathed
in the commerce of quota
            whose motto
                        could very well be
how much wood
            could a woodchuck chuck if...
                        And then there are those
whose selflove boomerangs them
            through space and
                        back into space
a duende orbit
            a blue bloat
that voice says:
            go nowhere you have not
                        already been