"Prewritten Requiem for John Ashberry"

by Glen Armstrong

I always liked the way he shook

language down for its milk money,
standing there in his penny loafers
and Fantômas fan club sweatshirt.


A duck walks into a bar.
A bar walks into a dusky sunset.
It’s all done with Spidercams

and gyro-stabilizers.
 It’s a fine way of walking
for those of us who get fatigued,

similar to riding a train
made of nothing but windows.

We don’t really need the radio.
Something else is always on.

poetryBarzakh Mag