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New Poetry, by Mia Rozan

The Polar Express’ Desk Clerk

On the Polar Express,

‘cross walls of velvet,

draped in wood.

‘Cross porcelain dinners of

fat bellied men. ‘Cross painfully

happy dogs. In the back,

below piss colored lights,

is the clerk’s desk.

Armed deadly.

With his kippah.

He fends off

merry ghosts.

Brilliant Jelly

To be so brilliant,

as a jellyfish.

To float aimlessly,

gobble plankton.

To be more jelly in mind and soul.

Here’s to knowing nothing,

feeling nothing, thinking nothing.

I’m here to float.


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