from SILENCE LOUDER THAN A TRAIN.. ‘You Are Too Pure And Free’

You are too pure and free,
I can tell by the debris
of relationships
that lock you into such a storybook
where everything else is a
final shade of pale grey:
decided as you endlessly change

Partners, and retreat into the vagaries
of impossible superiority
and fame; life,
your decree, shows no sign
of meaning
Nor a season in this hell of fear,
from which
you do not know: that here,
the angels’ work is treason

©Dean J. Baker


‘A Nation Of Lunatics’… from SILENCE LOUDER THAN A TRAIN

The anhedonics have it; more pills,
loveless sex, booze and cash, all
forms of coping with the modern world.

Or athletics, politics, religion –
each interchangeable and dependent
upon the credulity of homo sapiens.

Enter the delusion of impending fame,
no less than cosmic significance, and
don’t forget the neighbors’ good opinion.

All this plus an ability to command
weather by temperament, along with
the omnipotent faculty of being bland.

Fueled by money and growing sophistication
as the level of education sinks:
the picture of a people who cannot think.

©Dean J. Baker

from The Lost Canadian, Vol. 1 – ‘Rice Lake’

did no one tell me
about the poet-kings
and the slow collision of light

That summer went by,
like an unlocated sound
of night, spent
on other shores

I was too young
for fire or the gasoline banquet;
burned instead
in your different breath

The wound open
to visitors and praise;
like the list of names, only
secret to ourselves

© Dean J. Baker

…from SOLILOQUIES OF THE HORIZONS.. ‘Conspiring Distance’

I am the fallen.

The runaway son, born and reborn through transpiring muck.
Crossing; the wide distances, currency. A dissonance
commanding recognition.

This does not go easy on anyone persuaded that they
themselves are listening.

I am an assassin familiar; wanting to break your memory
of the balance of secrets.
The ransom unpaid by forged documents.

Let alone sheaves of thought stacked against the
moonlight of your staring heart.


©Dean J. Baker

excerpt from SOLILOQUIES OF THE HORIZONS, The Prose Poems, Vol.2, 102 pages, $11.99 – the ebook 2.99

.. from PROVENANCES AND PAROLES.. ‘Interregnum’

εις άτοπον απαγωγή

Every time I look up there are eyes
on me, looking in, gauging temperament,
gathering intelligence, seeking dispensation.
I see idle curiosity, a certain flexibility
willing to bend if finally they can triumph.

There is no death but satisfaction
in this false purity and heaven of transparency.
A little minor decorum is or may be observed.
This merely serves to allow the engine pause
before we each in our vanished freedom are
whipped away almost noticeably
in one direction or another to serve the cause.

Mild entropy some might call it. Useless
debate between ghosts, ancestors and animals.
Wonder once was a marvelous amazement,
now an antiquity of paradise, a relic of Mars.

We’ve become so reckless in our joy, so
careless in our delight we do not recognize
the loss of caution, the abandonment of integrity.
The reductio ad absurdum of this life
reduced to small gasps, smug smiles amid imprisonment.

Shrink-wrapped in glass as we are, there remain no
special moments unless we forsake the notions whereby
you are the host who must teach forbearance daily.

I thought this might be noticed, remarked upon
even with a casual dismissal but no, that’s
not permitted in this tribe of small children
commanding a life and death no more allowed:
nor existent since the spell of diodes and glass
took over to replace a certain boredom with the world.

©Dean J. Baker

εις άτοπον απαγωγή or eis atopon apagoge, “reduction to the impossible”