Bonny Finberg


I’m sorry. Please accept my humblest apologies.
I’m here to say you can’t escape the fact
conception births belief,
creates the word,
creates the world,
can only hope it shields your ass,
perceives beyond your eyes.

But hope, like all it dictates dies,
the sooner gone, the closer to our nature,
permission then to walk away, to die alone,
to leave our doppelgangers in our dust,
to turn away and rise above this vaguely proffered earth,
which something perfect bore,
where childish lies of immortality then grew.


A temple bell
praises dying sun,
cool breeze,
barefoot boy on roof’s edge,
tugging a current against his kite,
persistent balance,
has just to approach the wind,
a will of its own,
where birds are.


Which is better — cake or cookies?
Would you rather swim in the sea or an indoor pool?
How do you like your cheese — soft or firm?
Do you take your coffee black, with milk or cream?
How do you rate your lovers — brains or beauty?
Where would you rather be — in bed or the beach?
What is the better way — love or duty?
Who would you rather kiss — liar or snake?
How to murder a tyrant — blow torch or poison?
Who do you ask for help — God or the bank?
Where do you go for love — Heaven or Hell?
How would you rather die — in rage or despair?
What is your favorite drug — love or pain?
How did you lose your faith — in love or defeat?
How might you gain it back — in victory or love?
Who do you know the best — enemy or friend?
How would you cast your legacy — in thought or love?
When do you know the point — at birth or death?
How can you find your way — by heart or mind?

Avian Love Song

His echo,
stone gray and flanked
by trees fastened to the ground,
cemented in their small brown squares,
wild roots below,
an undiscovered text.
He waits.

Her answer, plaintive,
soft and foreign,
not the one he hoped,
the jeweled clarion,
but not the one,
the lyric withered,
music weakened,

Here, here, he sings.
Here, here. Here, here. Here, here.”

Then her distant,
Come, come. Come, come.

Yes, yes, yes.

Her increase,
their ancient chorus:
Here, here.
Here, here.
Here, here.
Yes, yes, yes.
Two rivers rushing,
Here, here.
Here, here.
Here, here.
Yes, yes, yes.
Come away

Bonny Finberg's publications include her novel: Kali's Day, Autonomedia, NY, 2014; Sitting Book, Xanadu Press, NY, 2018; Deja Vu, Corrupt Press, Paris, 2011. How the Discovery of Sugar Produced the Romantic Era, Sisyphus Press, NY, 2006. She received a 2014 Kathy Acker Award for fiction and is working on her second novel.