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Odessa Cafe

When sun’s light shuts off computer window

    Or lightning folds the house in soft electric

Fog of thin light, plans  of the past

    Do not necessarily go “auto-future”.

I’d thought to glimpse back to meet you

    But in the remodeled café, no time window

Permits. Must be papered up more than formica deep.

    New menu glossy with pre-printed choices

I choose “today’s special” lettered on index card

    Scope young couple next booth arguing over “Dutch Treat”

Recall you ordered trout in a clean sport shirt

    Today I ordered salmon. This was where you said;

“I saw you sitting over there in a different coat.”

    Pointing to nowhere, an empty table

& I knew you were mad or really time-tripping

    Today here in a different coat, I sit

Looking for the time window but maybe

    It’s a one way view.

Luckily I don’t see into the dingy past here

    They have removed the empty spaces

& framed certificates and menus hang

      On the fourth wall of the glass-sided vestibule

But just as I feel I may have bent time trip

      Into some fake magic peek-a-boo window

A stranger in a clean sports shirt

      Ordering in the booth behind me

Tells the waiter I have propositioned him

       But he has no time for that stuff today

Because he lives in Brooklyn and it is raining.

Bastille Day 2012

Invisible fireworks over the roof

    Dull celebratory explosions

Above my sleep or over on side street

      Elusive airbursts: perhaps gunfire

As when I heard the “rat tat” in a coffee shop

    Touring up Greek mountains toward Delphi

& jumped up from the table, sighting the yard

      Perhaps with the reflexes of a ghost picnicking

With tourists now & into the future: causeways

       & the credit collapsed amid gunfire

Outside the ancient treasury house & with shouts

      Rooted somehow within the fiery small suns

Extra above dark mountain stone

“Fitna”: 9/11 X 2”

No words rise in the silent heart

    Quiet crucible of anger

Only photos of fire starters

      & the mad, recorded screams of innocent

Raiders beneath fresh, pre-fab black banners

      Handed out hawalah by Soul Bankers.

1000 years gone, we’ve lost the wick’s thread

    Forgetting to follow the flame’s advice

Amid electrical delusions magnifying loss

    Into pixilated nothing:  melting lens of ice

Scraped from the unplugged freezer of a looted café

      Destroying what we seldom enjoy

Too quickly at the burning inner moment:

      Raiders beneath fresh, pre-fab black banners

Handed out hawalah by Soul Bankers.

      Some mumble in the underbrush

About the secret source of conquest,

      Holy forgeries within the neck

Of the microphone impersonating prophesy

         As the ancient emergencies die, smoldering dark

before the new moon emerges,

    Crescent/s fragile light, alone in the sky:

Antique pendant clean from jeweler’s cleansing acid

     Hangs sparkling, brilliant as if no soot emerges

From beyond the moon’s control becoming new

    Raiders beneath fresh, pre-fab black banners

Handed out hawalah by Soul Bankers.

    As sorrow rises in the silent heart

The real prophesies from the candle flame

    Lie on the littered streets

Invisible beneath cartoon pamphlets

      Burning only thick smoke upward,

A screen against the moon,

    Against the clear voice of the stars

Speaking cold silence above Soul Bankers

      Urgent tabulation of how many innocents

Kindle certain fire from the old wick’s thread

      Forgetting to follow the flame’s advice.

Until fire manikin pulses in the usual bed

       Reminding that radioactive stone at magnified depth

Comes close through air’s watery lens

    Shining through windows upon the cell phoney’s head

A rag doll of no substance flaming as faked ancient signs

    Becoming “real” as real be “strange”

Raiders beneath fresh, pre-fab black banners

       Handed out hawalah by Soul Bankers.

Crates of black flag supplies from the unknown donor

      Quickly changing into fiery vestments of terror

* Fitna (also fitnah or fitnat) is an Arabic word with connotations of secession, upheaval, and chaos. It is widely used in Arabic daily language as an adjective which refers to "causing problems between people" or attempting to create a chaotic situation that tests one's faith. The exact translation of this word is often ambiguous for non-Arabic speakers. The word fitna also has several similarities with the idea of tribulation in Christian belief.

Eugenia Macer-Story is a poet-playwright and visual artist whose work has been published and exhibited internationally. Her poetry chapbooks have been part of the Poets House poetry publication showcase  for a number of years. She also writes books on the supernatural and IFO experiences and her articles on the supernatural have been published in UFOs and Supernatural magazine and UFO magazine. A detailed CV is available at and her email is


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