Jim Dunn


Stormy morning weather
Unseasonably so for early June
Trees buck wildly against the wind
Thrashing in the sideways rain

If so then so be it
In my dead brother’s
Hooded verdant jacket
I stride heavenward
Through summer puddles
Searching for the bald eagle
in the chosen treetop
mindful of the time.

Dogs were Killed in the Filming of this Movie

They were wrinkled with time and sniffing around
All my poems are this simple, really
I am a kind man with a big heart of Gulden’s
Brown mustard
Apply it liberally to your fears
Twisted into a pretzel of salted tears
Cover yourself in the condiments of night
An insecurity blanket of Russian undressing
Awake to find the morning bathed in a brilliant butter
From Rafe’s chasm’s rocky coast
The wrinkled dog dutifully follows at dawn and blends into
The chiseled rocky brown copper landscape with his
Sandy skin Beautiful brown horse coat
One fisherman on the lower rocks sits with the ghosts
Of the two who were swept out to sea by a rogue wave
As the sea swelled and Rafe watched from his widening chasm
Whispering to the sea, “The name is Ralph, not Rafe.”             

Warren Zevon’s piano echoes slightly out of tune
Ricocheting off the stone walls at South Station Boston
in the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson Gun
bullet notes bouncing off commuters eager ears
Accidentally like a Martyr who died on purpose
Patti Hearst heard the burst of
Train announcements
Random love abandoned love
Taking the commuter rail
To Providence, New Haven Penn Station Trenton Philadelphia

Now reproaching,
Now deriving
Now approaching
Now arriving
Boarding on track 7
Take us to the Lackawanna Station of
random acts and scheduled thoughts
I lay my head on the railroad track

Lord have mercy on me


I clear my mind
For miles

Head full
Of invisible mountains

Fist full of

Skirting the

Preparing to let fly
The winged wind

Separating the holy dreams
of angels

From the deflated balloon
Of the common man

Ahem! Ahem!

Head full
Of invisible mountains and buffalo

I clear my mind
For miles of half forgotten trees

Fist full of
Horizons lining the sun with the summer sea

Skirting the
Clouds with a nimble glee

Preparing to let fly
The winged wind
With a mind of its own

Segregating the holy dreams
of floating angels

From the deflated balloon
Of the common man

Dreaming them on the one bus
Rolling through Central Square

Boston behind me
God just ahead

Where Am I? Where Am I?

I couldn’t feel
What was real

Zigzagging along the grass
On the edge of the cliff
Taking flight
Over the sheer Ovingdean Gap

His Gothic father wraps his arm around
The boy’s chilly shoulder as his spirit takes to the air
An heir to the air of the air we can’t see (can’t breathe)
Offering him a slice of the night

Golden twin shakes his head no
None for me then rips himself a piece of the crust
Watching “Scarface” with his dad and his darker twin

You think you’re tough?
Say hello to my little friend.

19,999 days lead up to this
Arthur the adventurer
He shined like a sorrowful sun
With one bright wing

A majestic tragedy
Muted royalty
Lost crown
Dented halo
A distant beacon light
Flickering secrets through the night 
Nothing turned itself
Nothing turned itself

Numb and brazen
Blank and unwritten
Grief is elastic
You slowly inch further
But end up snapped back
To the same spot.

We can never have you
Back. Lost to the white cliffs of Brighton
Gorgeous unfurling of summer clouds
You were enveloped shrouded swallowed
By the white whale cloud,
the lady of the morning mist
The end of the divine rope
But the view was eternal
Arthur the beautiful accident
Last trip maybe first trip
Lost in dream of a hypnotic voyage
With your Gothic father
His arm draped around you
Offering you a slice of the night
In your golden halo delight