Two Poems by Paul Bravmann



Image Credit: Tom Barrick, Chris Clark, SGHMS
Image Credit: Tom Barrick, Chris Clark, SGHMS


Rhyme’s addictive, rhyme’s in(s)ane
It’s a contour map of the rhyming brain
In through the ears like violet dye
Paints a path like an MRI
Loop-de-loops like a Spirograph
Builds momentum like an avalanche
Thrills to the sound cause it loves the sound
Of its own voice messing words around
Replicates like a virus
Throbs like encephalitis
Wakes you in the night cause it wants to party
Controls your mind to control your body
Don’t give a fuck about nothing
Except feet and meter and scansion
Iambs, enjambment and assonance
Heroic couplets and chiasmus
Slant! Anapest! Onomatopoeia!
Rhymers of the world we feel you!

Rhyme’s unstoppable, fundamental
It’s bigger than language, it’s transcendental
The suck and blow of breaths – rhyme
Waves as they break on the beach – rhyme
Your human habits are a kind of rhyme
The itch and scratch of X in time
And rhyme is something you can see,
Like bilateral symmetry
Subatomic, anatomic, astronomical
The material world rhymes, y’all
Fold a blank piece of paper in half
Rhyme don’t get more basic than that
But what is rhyme’s reason to be?
Order pushes back against entropy
And that’s the engine that makes rhyme go
Puts wayward ducks in a nice neat row
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
Rhyme is life and life is lust


For Alex B.

The drones of Xmas fill the skies
Above the streets of Austin
The Cloud is full of dick pix
It’s become a storage problem

The drones of Xmas introduce
A new flavor of dread
It’s another Chinese monkey year
And David Bowie’s dead

The drones of Xmas fill the skies
Above the streets of Fresno
The drones must be a metaphor
Cause David Remnick says so

The drones of Xmas signify
As they hover, dip and soar
They herald the apocalypse
Dark birds of nevermore

The drones of Xmas fill the skies
Above the streets of Bellevue
They’re fast and bold and app-controlled
And streaming video of you

The drones of Xmas are back-ordered
Through mid-February
Prime vows to get your drone to you
By drone if necessary

The drones of Xmas fill the skies
Over the streets of Claremont
Where David Wallace R.I.P.
Is spared their denouement

The drones of Xmas worry me
Because I love my son
Who when he asks, and he will ask
I’ll no doubt buy him one


Paul Bravmann lives and writes in Brooklyn, New York.