most of us think of poems as rivers in circles
hello how
are you...........I'm fine
well I'll have....................to leave now
but I'll..........be back
that was rough
are you...........I'm fine
well I'll have....................to leave now
but I'll..........be back
that was rough
But no with you it's more
"That tree almost killed us" and two miles later
I think I recognize the bark
perhaps but more often we just see
more river water
oddly
s h aped b an ks
and
p e b b l e d b e d s
life is like your marijuana, good sir.
Sometimes at times we start and the grave
deep and wide swallows us
well
I wasn't
planning
on it
ending
quite like
this
but no
you dig and
dig and say
TREASURE CHEST
with a silent
"TREASURE"
And then with others the path
wanders dizzily around like a
bumblebee happy bumbling and when you
speak instead I have to
feel
you
fluidly wordwright
spinning me
And pay less attention before meaning blossoms
like a lily in a piss-filled gutter
wilting but you know when it dries,
sticky,
a photograph embalmed with God would not do it justice.
To you, Mr. Ginsberg; I raise my shot glass -
bless my gasoline.
