Stephanie Young & Del Ray Cross

from The Postcard Poems

ha-ha girls
                       for Hilton Obenzinger

boy says “make that because”
given the dead violets
god drew thus lesser boys
filled the offspring with girls
astonished, the father vanished
in an apartment in Queens
with fabricated pears from TV
“laughing father no true father
have swallowed so much grit”
“believe anything it’s worth it”
she hung in each room
sired vague memories


Del Ray Cross

Barbarella (Boots)

2 intermissions –
there have been 2 so far
and now for Sir Elton.
We are off.
The dancer has no reputation,
unless the wind
lifts her little skirt.
Even in this bell-curve
auditorium, don’t hide it
under a bushel, A-R-T
spelled out in giant twigs. HELLO
look at her skirt flying I think
she is trying AM the dancer
to talk HERE.

Stephanie Young

                            for Robinson Jeffers

an ocean curtain with
darting birds their red backs
at the river-mouth
pinewood multitudes
all the way from Carmel
where the sand is sinking
out of the trampling
a hovering under my wings
long and ungainly at the ledge
fly falcons of gray hunger
together the wind dances
and gulls gather


Del Ray Cross

A woman wears slices of fruit and vegetables

A woman it seems
eats garlic. A woman is supplemental
& secretly pleased
by the strength required to climb
a hill on her bike. But I am blind
and pregnant HELLO
and feel unclear
as to how one should behave
when approached on the street:
I am a liar. I AM HERE.
I have been, in all sincerity,
drunk on the apples of sisterly love
semi-soaring above my sufficiently clean human body.

Stephanie Young

               for Jack Spicer

a wood whose throat full of trees
is something which somebody
thighed pushes a chesspiece
an object seen in baked honey
confound it! a great distance
full of blank spaced baseballs
radio dogs and destroyed mice
reborn like mirror people


Del Ray Cross


I tell Clive
How I’ve been letting men
Pay me 5 $
To touch my ass
On the lake!

Stephanie Young

only parking lots

this fog, this morning of masks is
a hard nut to crack.
no one looks at me. our water
who art got no ears. cough
or crash like an ocean. i explain
is full of keys
and cars. this death
that all people hang to. fraught
it laps the sand. mists. myths. no
one seizes. i mean seas. no one
looks at these.


Del Ray Cross

Her Majesty

HELLO I AM her majesty
HERE on a bench
contemplating ball players
millions of dollars in cash
for lunchtime I had
salad, the Queen in disguise
in a pair of used shoes.
I shall cancel my
engagements + sleep like royalty
+ have a semi-fit.

Stephanie Young

                for Norma Cole

he wants the business of words
photos escaping between spaces
writ up with the moon behind it
things lying around unconstructed

things as a story seen from
behind the film where the
dark cells blow inside out
pencil use or chicory use

he wants words dying in my
coffee with a cellphone laughing
upon my cheek in unison with Big Bird
leaving the piano quiet

three more arches block the view
translators with their tongues askew


Del Ray Cross

Ball Given in Boston

Did I mention
my new career?
I have become a fireman!
I am suited up
and ready to go. I am easy
& I like flame so much
meanwhile Boston is gathering you
in what I like to call
her snowy, long lost arms.


Stephanie Young

© 2005 Electronic Poetry Review