Louis Kasatkin Poems

Do maps redraw themselves after they are

rolled up and put back in the drawer?
...

We sleep the sleep of forever

sleep the sleep of here and now,
...

Days are made charitable by their absence,
best off intruding someone else's eviscerated
existence rather than mine;
Time was when I felt
...

Tendril lines snaking

coiled uncoiled uncoiling,
...

' We are both thieves
you and I ',
said the Man
who stole a Billion
...

Every evening at 5.09
he leaves the office,
takes the streetcar
into town,
...

a barely muted buzzing of flies
thousands upon thousands,
a counterpoint click-clicking
of crickets in chorus,
...

The hours of Autumn chime
their slow lament,
dedicated to lachrymose entwined
self-pity and ennui;
...

The mordant day drifts along its course
into the deep deep of evening,
its hours exhausted by a futility
arduously wrought with effort, endeavour, exasperation;
...

We all recall something else
somewhere else, someone else
other than the Here, the Now
and least of all ourselves
...