Three Poems by Dana Garrett

It was nothing nothing but the stunned trees around the dark street, cars mocking from the highway. nothing much. maybe the toll of a few glutted leaves, the usual shadows, a tune whistled from the street nothing to tell of. perhaps the parted curtains or something forgotten long ago. The figure watching from the yard go back to sleep.
Bit Within nothing litter from an explosion gathers in clusters, becomes what gathers in clusters-- flares briefly here, there cools with certainty of cold, but during the flux conducts a bit of its warm static into what swims, slithers, heaves its raw head up from mud, walks, wars, sings of the nothing it is.
Why There Can Be No More Chinese Departure Poems Under the digital blue theater sign outside the mall, White faces stream out behind us. Here we must offer our “Later” and “Yea, later,” And trek a thousand feet of parking lot in broken glass. Mind dizzy like a video arcade. Headlights diverge off distant onramps. If we can’t meet here tomorrow, I’ll try your beeper, or cellular, or send e-mail. Dana Garrett