October 3, 2015

Two Poems By Jake Tringali: "recanted", "on the edge of escape velocity"

Born in Boston.  Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city.  Runs rad restaurants.  Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers.

Since July 2014, publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, The Commonline Journal, Apeiron Review, Catch & Release, Boston Poetry Magazine, and others.


there are hidden letters after x, y, z
not spoken about
except in the dusty history halls in library whispers

forgotten in the murk of the dark ages
when children would sing-song smiling
through twenty-six friends,
always in order, always tidy
the harmony rose up through the major scale
to resolve softly on the ultimate consonant
before those toddlers’ faces turned grimace
to continue the blackly dirge

past that darkened horizon lay horror
for in those hidden murky corners
rising out of the frozen languages
cloaked in runic and futhark accents
in arabian maqam
and full throated chants to the old gods
scratched into burned margins of scrolls
wretched with rat feces, gypsy oils, fetid ink
are the diminished dirt tones of lost symbols

chanted wild o’er a fire
tattooed tongues through scarred lips
best left to the phrygian dusk
heretical language
strange figures
canted, and then recanted

on the edge of escape velocity

met her in a hurricane churning in the stratosphere
among flying cocktails and space-age rockets, winging past bar stools and broken guitars
nor’easter clouds thunder around us
the land below cracked and uplifted
my compass spun, once again

a wet parade of roof tiles, unhinged doors, and garbage bins
chewing through the air, knocking dirty debris this way and that
a spiraling derby and we, whirlybird spectators

between leaning skyscrapers
we, too, spiral through the gale
briefly colliding once
emitting highly unstable particles, flinging ever outwards
jetting through possible universes

foundations rock to and fro, twisted in the maddened rain, lights flickering, power scuttled

but this lonely raven, body and mind and claws dangerously sharp,
clutches her highball, doled out by automatons
drifting past us are those robots, nitwits stamped out by machines in Boston, Philly, Detroit
she sighs simply, smiles dimply

we collide a second, and last, time
and know secret scars
a knitted conspiracy in this, a flurried tête à tête

airborne parties always end, and soon
as the last guests slip upward and the barometer stills itself

amid the barrage and the rubble
the blasts and the scree
we pause to look up and see
the full moon has angled its way down
the better to see this ballistic ballet

the last swoops and swoons are upon us
rapid intensification
she tells me I’m a friend
a harmony born and torn in one gust

in the end,
she is there now, in that hurricane

in the end,
I am winded, wounded, and dropped smacked flat on my back 300 miles away

in the end,
the moon and the sun are beside each other, snickering

~Both poems were first published by Kool Kids Press

~Jake Tringali

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