Tuesday, January 10, 2017

POEMS TO FORGET



Empty mind
filling empty time.
Haydn on the radio.


***

I prefer the company
of my cat to
the company of pretty
much anyone
else.

***

Keep typing,
maybe a miracle
will happen and
this poem will
end.

***

Slowly decomposing
while composing
this poem.


***

Little Pushkin,
someone yelled
from a rowboat.
Meaning me, little
me, 5 years old standing
on a bridge somewhere
in St. Petersburg, with
wild curly hair and
skin too pale for
Pushkin.
Malenkiy Pushkin!




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