Without dragging its name
in off of the street, where it was
enjoying a brief respite
from too-careless mouths,
...
All the poets are dead,
save the ones left on tumblr,
who you can message ten times
without putting down breakfast.
...
I stole a poem today,
Found it pressed between leaves
Of a book in a store
Filled with a thousand books
...
Sir, you misunderstand me:
When I say that he was very human,
I do not mean to say that he
Was wise, empathic, compassionate,
...
Here we go to get it all wrong again:
A star-crossed love (that old cliché)
Of joined hands in secret (together anyway)
...
I sit at desk, dip pen to ink,
And once again attempt
To lay bare some hidden thing
I know not how to say.
...
Fire
listen to all the happy people
gather round the fire and say
"It has done no wrong:
fire never burned me."