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Three poems by Christopher Kobylinsky
"Wheel of Fortune," "Schubert in the Wind," and "A Triptych for Sonny Rollins"
Wheel of Fortune There are times when roadkill becomes the crow’s delight— life is what you make it, they say, but what about the opposite?— even the wind that whirls the last leaves of autumn as though they’d caught air from the fan blades around the wheel of fortune can sail a kite, though one can’t often help but wonder if it’s me or the wind that pulls the string tight—as though lightning could be struck by Benjamin Franklin
Schubert in the Wind Think of a man whose health can never be restored... – F.S. A wind blows through and through tonight, it howls through headphones, like dread the dying huntsman hears it sweeps sniffing against the window, it makes a seashell-led quintet of Schubert’s own string quartet, it soars, it cries in desperate D minor chords— breaks each cloud apart—and look! Orion’s Belt? Or only stars?
A Triptych for Sonny Rollins 1. Almost Like Being in Love this has been a rare mood, most like bein’ whole, most like bein’ the music of a bell ringing for the ear I swear I was— in love… 2. I’m an Old Cowhand I hand my legs my cheeks, I don’t know how to stand, I’m no star, no song— we’re from the town where the radio is all borderland, where the buffalo roam around a rug or the barbecue… 3. God Bless the Child that’s not the Bible, that’s his own child crowdin’ ‘round the door— you yourself the child that’s got, that may have, the yes he’s got…
From the author:
I have had poems previously published in Grey Hands Literary Magazine, Poor Yorick Journal, Incessant Pipe, Scapegoat Review, and Poetry Quarterly.