Patrick L Kalahar Biography

There is a man sitting in a room
Writing with a black pen on white paper
The room is drowning in books
The man sits on the only chair
...

Aimlessly I walk
through the town's empty streets
weeds defy the pavement
in cracks and fissures
...

Early spring rains have overwhelmed the fields
Barren grounds—still frozen—have become
Shallow seas in my imagination
The sunset, with its myriad hues
...

Death looks down on the walled city
where the rich sleep in little white houses
and the poor sleep in ovens. Small boxes
with iron doors which will bake a master
...

It was an old Indiana road, but one
we had not travelled before.
On a summer-like day
even before the spring, the sky
...