Friday, December 4, 2009

like the tar from one thousand cigars (dedicated to wolfgang)

i once was a young man w/death coolly dangling
from my mouth like a marlboro

now i am somewhere in the middle
& the thoughts of dying men
have permanently invaded my shape
like tar from one thousand cigars

& one day i will finally become what possessed
me my whole life through: an expired man

someone asked me the other day what poetry
was & i failed to answer them
but i will right now:

it's brailling
yr own urn

it's licking yr fingertips
& dipping them
inside & tasting
yr own ashes

it's the silt of
yr skeleton
on the tip
of yr tongue
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.