SMALL TALK AT BUKOWSKA AND LIBELTA: A poet in Poznan. - Poetry Chapbook, 2012.

“Krabo” They say moon is the same for everyone Streets are hostile or friendly Nothing depends on your luck You exist cause you’re taught to...

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Accidentally last

my very best poem will be the last one
the one written in invisible ink
stuck between a row of dusty
Kadarka
bottles
& withered sunflowers
the one on some ragged
yellowed piece of paper
or the one written in wax
on Basquiat's art
facsimile
or w/ chalk
on my favorite sidewalk
for someone who likes to play
hop-scotch

the one that will only express
my breath's
vivid
holiness
the one accidentally found
by the new house's owners
who'll never know
a poet lived here
before...

the one that went
to the dustbin...

a poem to summarize
my anonymous
presence:
the disenchanted
final
doorslam
the 2 A.M. coughing
Cohen's old songs
& your reddening
curls

a poem scratched on asylum's
ceilings
w/ petrified
matchsticks:
a poem a lifetime long

the poem the straight jacket
hides...

the poem w/ one word only:
"holy, holy, holy..."

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