Sunsets and Silencers

"Epic Fit for Bin #2," "Take Kindly," and "Man II: The Revenge"
By Ben Nardolilli

"Epic Fit for Bin #2"

I am satisfied, but are you?
I leave twice a day,
And see the same horizons,
I ration daylight
To find the same gods dying
All around me.

Sing for the vice,
Sing for the squeeze,
Call destiny your god,
Rename Zeus, Fate,
And it will be nice
Either way, but you find
No escape from patterns.

Here is the beauty,
In the shapes reincarnated,
The old cycles taking on
Jewels and furs,
Sunglasses you kissed goodbye
Long ago now here
For everyone to devour.

"Take Kindly"

If surrendering the things of youth
neither be cynical about
your soul, at least to your face,
you have in silence,
the affairs, the things to do.

Exercise caution,
speak to your grass
gracefully, clearly to you both,
and surrender your labors perennial

Know yourself
and mutilate
unfolding as you should,
or else you may become
full fatigue and loneliness

"Man II: The Revenge"

There were bolts.
There were bolts and nuts and testicles.
There were bones and bars.
There were bars and nails to hold thing together.
There was latex.
There was latex and the hairs were real.
There were joints and eyeballs.
There was no blindness, no arthritis.
There were nails and they were painted.
There was a heart, a sub-pump for blood.
There was a manufacture, there was a distribution.
There was an education, there was a downloading.
There were footprints left behind, nice and even.
There were textiles and there was shame when they were not applied.
There was a fruit that was piracy to digest.
There was a virus, there was foaming.
There were pair bondings, molecules in flight.
There was the special patch out of the pill bottle.
There were holidays at the ends of the earth's wide tilt.
There was music played through voice boxes.
There were lights to follow.
There were compatriots.
There were compatriots with closeness in serial numbers.
There was a moment with one.
There was a hand extended and a mouth reaching out.
There were lips put for an exchange.
There was a shutting of the door registered.
There were binary nights.
There was a note pinned to a calculator.
There was a disc with memories in an ashtray.
There was bathing, then a short-circuiting.

Ben Nardolilli is a twenty three year old writer currently living in New York City. His work has appeared in the Houston Literary Review, Perigee Magazine, Canopic Jar, and Lachryma: Modern Songs of Lament, Baker's Dozen, Thieves Jargon, Farmhouse Magazine, Elimae, Poems Niederngasse, Gold Dust, The Delmarva Review, Underground Voices Magazine, SoMa Literary Review, Heroin Love Songs, Shakespeare's Monkey Revue, Cantaraville, and Perspectives Magazine. In addition Ben was the poetry editor for West 10th Magazine at NYU and maintains a blog at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.