My faith has failed me
Your words are like the sunset
Please take me with you
We're always looking for something worth seeing.
I like to picture a young Franz Wright reading his life
sentence to a song bird and a hungry cat.
You're a poet. Welcome to Hell.
My father was a welder and probably more cynical.
(Another reason why I still throw salt over my shoulder.)
If I could, I'd ask him if he meets a lot of
pen junkies in the wherever of the afterlife,
and nothing else
I promised an old friend that I would tour Japan with him.
We never tried to leave Tokyo. (Probably for the best.)
The sake and the women kept him bravely grounded.
I stayed because there were words I didn't understand.
The third day there we went to an open mic.
Everyone looked completely out of place.
I think that's the way it should be.
Last person up was a cleaning lady at our motel.
She stormed on stage and took her clothes off.
Started reading the cigar smoke as it wrapped
around those inglenook hips. My lips found her eyes.
and I tasted icing on my tongue. Her voice was
a cherry blossom floating down the Tama River.
Within minutes there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
We were all going to marry her ideas.
My friend looked at me with a gale force grin and said
"How can someone be this poetic while being that naked?"
My jaw reluctantly came home and I remembered how to speak.
"How can they not be?"