by Jason Visconti
The Wrestler Versus Life He has it to the mat but can he bear it down, All these years working on his grip, This cage he guards where once he had to pounce, Now he doesn't know the route for such a trip, No wrinkle in his hold when passing on. The Problem With God The puppeteer has lost his dangling strings, Our petty stumps work for every feature, Though the heart within a puppet is a pretty thing, Something in the sock meant for this theater, While the puppeteer has staged his last maneuver. When Nurses Show Love By waves of mercy you may follow their traffic, Their embrace a simple service of the hip, Blooms before what comes to bend the stalk, Their brushing through your hair the sweetest of trips, Magicians who work the prop of your cheek. A Special Kind Of Spy May the windmill of chances wheel him around, May the mark of a handshake be his silent code, May his disappearance be as present as gold, May his cunning step reverse all men to their beds, May he wait in the walls with the stake of a God.
Jason Visconti first discovered his love for poetry after losing his mother at a young age and needing a way to express himself. Decades later, it remains his passion.