4 Poems by Rex Ybañez

By Rex Ybañez



“Dictionary” © Greeblie (https://www.flickr.com/photos/greeblie/3338710223/)

Celsius or Fahrenheit,
separation or proximity, even
empowered or powerless—
do we read this book together or
are we existing on other planets? Maybe
both: why not? In a world where
“Colorless green grass sleep furiously”
remains grammatical & illogical
I will scoot aside for room to share
this—let’s be on the same page:
where a tragic hero falls & rises within
the same sentence, whether
you are a footnote or I am a verb
intensely infinitive, between the front
& back cover where we space
words to bring them together—
“Dover Beach” on
one side as “A Man Once Said to
the Universe” on the other—as we hover
over the text, not concerned how
hot or cold distance is or if there is the
absence of lightness, for we
wonder how the rest writes out, life
in the drafting process, determining
if the journey’s worth it. Let’s
stop thinking & be silent:
let’s be silent &


A neologism aneurysm for those
who can’t stand mispronouncing espresso,
though nothing’s wrong with having
their own сafetière à piston to
ship off some triple ristretto
turn the java station into a post office
& express mail normale or
lungo shots down the counter. Sooner
or later, the “expresso” will catch on, & people
will come inside for their daily grind, which
may prove quicker & conveniently
better than paying $2.25 for
something they can make themselves:
the problem is—no one has the time, & they would
rather spend quarters & dimes for
the authentic Italian spelling instead of
dwelling on changing their minds.

Immortal Childhood

“River of Dreams” © Matthias Ripp (https://www.flickr.com/photos/56218409@N03/15562244442/)

Sleeping in the garden temple,
the young boy still dreams
about the river, floating like
his own island off into the current,

a place where he holds hands
with another otter, drifting
away into a world where pigs
go to school with funny creatures

called “humans,” where stories
found in the old leaves of trees sing of
joy & sorrow of their transience, &
cumulus clouds cushion feet

under the ocean sky. Anything
young men could want in the proximity
of their imaginations, just sleeping
inside the mind of men who know

how to fight, sweat blood for money,
know the difference between
the one-night stand & the lone
night stand at the other side of

an empty bed, gripping tight to
whatever ghosts may aid in their
delirium tremens, their triggers, &
hints of trilobites in their weather—

like craters on the moon, wounds that
made tombs from every blast. Still
even a cold man still has a young boy
sleeping peacefully in his mind,

as the armor of the dark fortress
crumbles. Like being startled,
he grunts & rustles, smacking lips
with happy fatigue, never aware

how much one man will do to preserve
all the blessings of the sun, the riches
of the moon, & the promises from
rain just to keep his garden ageless:

tomorrow, the old man will tend to
his flowers, shaking with Parkinson’s
as he holds a bud that never bloomed,
kissing it & clasping it to his heart—

“I, too, was once a keeper of the leaves,
& I have failed you, my Sanctuary:
please spare this boy’s life—let him sleep
forever. I can take the rush a bit longer.”

Requiescat in Pace (Ode to Mythos)

Inside the children’s picture book
our universe is reborn, the environments of
pure imagination. Soft jazz chord staccatos
swipe across kaleidoscope skies

dangled from bedroom mobiles pushing
cellophane seas, as if fingers paint jungle atmospheres
or catch magical birds at a distance between index and thumb,
powerful Phoenix & Quetzalcoatl given chances

for survival in a world milked of cosmic dreams, now rusted:
long ago, humans were rapt by holy & wild visions, provisional as
irrigation. What are we left with? Estrangement,
remembering when giants had depressed footprints on Earth—

we come across craters today, never considering
that heavier things flapped their wings before us. But here
in a story, we wonder again, even as we close
the last door—sweet dreams, my love.

RexYbanezRex Ybañez has been a former grant writer and children’s librarian at Polk County Library; today, he’s currently the research librarian. He holds degrees in English and Spanish from Southwest Baptist University, and he has plans of either going for his MFA in creative writing or an MLS to work as a library director. Rex has also been published and accepted in DANSE MACABRE, The Squawk Back, HARK Magazine, Little River, Southwest Baptist’s Literary Journal SCOP, Grist: The Missouri State Poetry Society anthology, White Ash Literary Magazine, ARDOR Literary Magazine, and other journals. In his leisure time, he enjoys jamming on his Fender Jazzmaster, taking his Bernese Mountain Dog on walks, and spending time with his best friend/romantic interest, Jessie.

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2 Comments Post a Comment
  1. Rex Ybanez says:

    Thanks so much once again for publishing my work, guys. I’m sure I’ll be contributing in the future. Best to you!

  2. Pero says:

    Hey Nell! It’s funny you mention that, buasece shortly after I decided to start this blog, funny T-Rex pictures started popping up everywhere. People post them on my wall all the time! I wish that was the reason I named my blog T-Rex Runner instead of my awkward body type, but it’s not. Oh well! Thanks for reading!

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