Late Summer

The spell is over. The orgy is over. We get what we want, then time runs out. We who were born by phallus and wand pass on. Like summer flowers thriving in the untended edges of the yard.  George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary […]

Process

Do not process this experience. Just have it. It is not about anything. Not about leaving. Not about having fun. Not about you or anyone.It’s not about needing to participate. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 […]

Replaced

Most of my water escaped long ago too,and which one of us was reallydesigned to withstand the pressure? Slowly filtered through solid rock,the remains are all that remains:    pyrite and calcite and Uranium.Armored fish patrolling the depths,consuming the soft, fleshy parts, anddisappearing into the crystal lattice. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. […]

Buddha Taught

Everything is in flux:our body heat, the flowof blood circulating throughthe arteries, even the thoughts in our heads, and the soundsbouncing off objects all around-the fluctuating voice cordsand the atmospheric pressure, too.Everything changing. The musclescontracting, skin cells dying, nailsgrowing, hair follicles too. Creaturescoming and going, the air itself, andthe self itself, all moving. Possessionsdissolving:CarsMoneyClothingBooksComputersHometownsConversationsDrugsAffairsSatisfaction fleeting. George Cassidy […]

I Need My Used Book Store

Three Lives, in New York. From Intelligencer I need my used bookstore. The sensuous aromas of waxy skin jackets andmahogany shelves, paperskeletons in an excavatedashram of introspection.I need what it stashes awaybehind a Tom Clancy noveland an old National Geographic.Eureka! That one book, at sometime misplaced in my mind,appearing as a lost symbol ofwilderness, casting a garland-clothed silhouette, as flannel-shirted, torn-jeaned, leather- sandalled […]