Matt Greenblatt

Matt Greenblatt Poems

Every morning wakes
With the flirtacious drip
Into the coffee pot
The hiss of steamed milk

St. Gabriel's Church this morning
Bustles with a life
That Istanbul's Bazaar
Never saw on its proudest day

Night and fog descend
About those peaceful eyes
Mind clouded, visage hidden
In merciless blindness

Drowned in darkness, designed isolation
Icy knives assault my back
Descending to the iron floor
With a gentle pitter-pat

What a luxury it is to
Slip into the night
Away from your friends
At the bar, confident

We came one step
Closer to a proof of
The existence of infinitely many twin primes

You don't wear a tie
Because your neck looks good leashed in color

Her glasses rest so gently on her face
And in that instant of soft touching
Worlds and kingdoms melt to me
But my eyes retreat in haste

To say that her hair
Shines like the sun
Would fail to do justice
To that red-haired one

Inside the train
One hears the screech
Of wheels on rails
They try to breech


In the stairwell shuffle feet
Breathing in that liquid heat
Seeking some abstact relief
From the destitute concrete

I once entered an angry car
More than once perhaps it was
And in its lividness I rode
Scarring throught the peaceful streets

The thing I remember most
About that May was
Being terribly short on cash
Feeling somewhat desparate

The dying summer hours
Where the parched grass cracks
Beneath your feet
And the road still burns

Millenia ago you spat us forth
Upon this wretched land
To crispen in the sun
As the crashing waves

Its purposes are scribbled down on doctors' scripts
Its meanings hidden in cryptic messages
Like take two daily only after eating
Though that full stomach offers little comfort

Down on their luck
They decided to take rooms in that house
Sheltered by the crumbling walls
Of the lampless corridors

I can sense the train's approach
Its minute, dull oscillations
Its soft tenor rumble
That builds to whining brakes

I once dreamt
That I was alone
In a clearing and
Somehow I'd been paralyzed


Crawling rats
In all the alley ways
And on the pantry's floor
Dodging every trap i set

Matt Greenblatt Biography

not much to say, seeing as i'm pretty boring. i'm a student at the moment. hope you enjoy my writing.)

The Best Poem Of Matt Greenblatt

The Coffee Maker

Every morning wakes
With the flirtacious drip
Into the coffee pot
The hiss of steamed milk
Rumbling t-cranes
And hydraulic lifts
Brewing up and brining down
And a screw
On the steel mill floor
Falling, falling, falling
Give me coffee
Dark, thick, and
Black as night
Give me your machine
I am the coffee maker

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