Green Hills Literary Lanten


Ribbon of Deranged Alphabet



There are seven hundred pages in the Manuel

Hidden like the pink buds of the Crabapple

Permanently rooted out back

So groggy in spring that Barbara at the PO

Wants to hide in her pajamas

At two PM

The need for a cozy life

A life of being

In utero forever

Without an overseer to forbid sleep.


You said I will love it…the office

The robotic futility of it

It’s always right there in the upper left

Hand corner of nowhere

But you will be too late for curiosity

You were listening again

Excerpts of Chopin on an antique computer

And being pregnant is a harsh sentence

Without reprieve still you look like you’re

Just getting started

Where the day bends

You predict it will be the end of

Being normal.


These lovely children all lain in a row

Someone has closed their eyes

But what if we can’t get back

Can’t cope with all the data

In the time machine

Will it be any different from the present?





Joan Payne Kincaid writes: “I live with Rod, a Rescue cat named Cordelia, and  Fox Terrier named Fancy. I write and paint in Sea Cliff, Long Island. My work is published Internationally  My latest book: Being Here: New and Selected Poems 1988-2012 is now available.”