Mr. Scissor
Mr. Scissor cuts the vision
You had while walking,
Rips up the world in a half
When you thought it was whole,
Your trip was halted, stopped
By the sight of his legs
Wide open, straight narrow
And planted on the adjoining side,
Kicking every ghost and tourist
With pearl white sneakers,
His pants were modest jeans,
Denim was all you could handle,
That human K gone falling down
Then stuck inside a curb and door,
Mr. Scissor slept all night outside
In a frame of his own making.
Street Shuffle Cathedral
Shoes roll over
to conquer the ruins of bottles,
the bottles are
ruins of past adventures
an hour cold,
already empty,
already fading,
what remains in the windows,
is glass that hides
behind glass,
some sort of image
cannibalism,
I try to find whole bottles
rolling in the street,
survivors,
my inspiration,
glass that does not break
becomes stained
Bio: Ben Nardolilli is a twenty four year old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in Houston Literary Review, Perigee Magazine, Canopic Jar, One Ghana One Voice, Baker’s Dozen, Thieves Jargon, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, Poems Niederngasse, Gold Dust, Scythe, Anemone Sidecar, The Delmarva Review, Underground Voices Magazine, SoMa Literary Review, Gloom Cupboard, Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue, Black Words on White Paper, Cantaraville, and Mad Swirl. In addition, he was the poetry editor for West 10th Magazine at NYU and maintains a blog, mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.