Nathaniel Kassel

george harrison was quiet

be a snowman. ride a red bicycle
into a dark pond.
fall in love with a beautiful girl and never
let her know.

crawling across sullen meadows, living in a spot,
inferno in the eyes as a short conversation,
a dredged up fight of the ancients.

and then a who’s who, writing on a sidewalk
passed by onlookers who have no business,
coriander seeds folding up and taking long naps.
men carrying nepalese coins in their pockets for luck,
their voices balancing wildebeests,
passing through waters in a banana,

he held a knack for creating a ransom perpetuated,
ladies called, men told days afterward. all you need is love,
bigger than jesus.
love worse than a rollercoaster,
a whirligig misplacing it’s whirl.