Friday, May 13, 2011

second hand shit

the cigarette ash that dropped
between the keys
is the better poem

the dark figure i pass in my car
w/the hood on, walking w/a twelve pack
at midnight is the better poem

the sleeping cat w/her back to me
w/relaxed & un-pricked ears
is the better poem

the cherry blossoms on tips of branches
against the cloudless blue sky
is the better poem

all the men spending their first night
in their graves is the better poem

but this second hand shit
these lines will have to fucking do...
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.