1440 6 6
|
And here’s a picture of you
at the end of the line
to the great toilet of
fiction, waiting to
relieve yourself, quick
before the poetry gets to you.
Or worse, the actual
poets.
|
154577
|
The light on his face from a lamp,
felt hat with a black band scrunched down,
the light on his face as though thrown there,
the nose creating a strong shadow,
with dark, straight eyebrows under the hat,
red and orange beard.
Leaning forwar
|
1608136
|
|
121044
|
The scarred heart pumps its viscous blood.
|
112532
|
Questions unanswered proliferate/
across the April sky, blue//
with wisps of cirrus white.
|
901410
|
You stalked me between the aisles, amongst the personal hygiene products …
|
140075
|
Everything conspires to kill you:
|
115664
|
I got caught writing poems
at the paint factory
several times
before they fired me
I got caught in the middle
of one of my best lines
but can’t remember what
I meant to say
anymore,
but I know, just know
it was something real good,
|
1460126
|
|
136454
|
Even mockingbirds are scarce;
|
119375
|
|
140333
|
|
168287
|
|
14551310
|
the last, best//
analgesic--/
guaranteed
|
124632
|
her knife cleaves a single red hair
|
