After Frogs Finally

After frogs finally
and all at once
(as if by contract or with
music charts) stop their
maniacal, charming belch-fest,
night air's suddenly
full of unused echoes,

which will stay for next
night's sprung chorus.

At this time, there will be
no statement regarding
hominids listening to frogs
while both have occupied
Time's gorges. Instead

we suggest you wonder
how it feels and sounds
to be a wet frog croaking
among other croaking wet frogs,
goodnight, goodnight, goodnight!
Do sense yourself a part of that fest. 


hans ostrom 2018

Metro, Milano

Three steps down,
and you inhale a wash
of metro exhale,
a garrulous breeze blending
smells of dirt, steel, people,
and the past. As with all metros,
even the air commutes.

Turnstiles and silly small
gates need to know about your ticket,
which gets eaten then
barfed up by something chrome.
How strange
that all the metro workers have
left these caves.

Because you think in cities
that violence whispers to everyone,
you hang back from the track
at least six strides.

The train bullies a wind
in front of it.  The car doors
hiss like bothered cats. Outflow
of guarded faces comes before
inflow of anxious faces,
and don't dare take your time,
as if it belonged to you.

How quiet the riders are.
The train does all the talking--
a recorded voice from the 1960s,
lilting and aloof. A few furtive
glances disrupt the numbed
glumness. In the caves,

a few beggars and buskers
reshape not at all the flow of torsos
and heads on legs.  Branches
of the River Metro flow against
gravity up to level, where
oceans of noise are ludicrously
loud. Below, above, it's all
a goddamned semi-efficient mess.
Take your allusions

to Plato, Styx, and Persephone
and toss them like a ticket.
Nobody cares.
This is urban business. Surplus
value rides these trains
wherever these trains ride.


hans ostrom 2018

Alps

odd word, alps--
awed by these massifs we
use a word that is a gulp


hans ostrom 2018

Museum of Design, Milano

in the cafe of
the Museum of Design
a warped table wobbles



hans ostrom

New Stars, Please

As we know,
the night sky needs updating.
Many stars visually
echo light from dead
sources. It's
astronomical lying.

Has Orion's belt
fallen off completely?

Has Ursa Major suffered
a mortal wound?

Are all the Seven Sisters
still a family?

I recommend looking
through glasses that filter
out light from dead stars.

True, astrologers might
be horrified. A bad
night for their horoscopes--
who could have predicted it?



hans ostrom 2018

So Somewhere Sally

So somewhere Sally
got lost on vacation.

She was working too
hard at relaxing.

She heard a cat
mew-owing.

The sound brought
her back to here,

where she were, in
the blur of being somewhere.


hans ostrom 2018

Swallows in Sicily

How long have swallows lived
in Sicily? They don't
ask questions like that.

They seem to live in
every town, just like Sicilians.
Their evening flights weave
patters impossible to extract.

They carve and slice the air,
teasing it into life after
its mid-day coma.

Their cries are tuned
to waver between
shriek and whistle.

At nightfall, in Cefalu,
we miss the swallows more
than the sun, more than
the fun we had, if we had
some fun, today.


hans ostrom 2018