We need a Celine/Miller/Kerouac/Bukowski/type for this time and place. I've chosen myself for the job. What did the man say? No guts no glory? So writing poems from the gut will do. And my star is rising...

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

for Sadie

Sadie was good
but had gotten too
used to goodbyes
by the ripe old age
of eighteen the time
the gods saw fit
that we came
together
walking
talking
smoking
sleeping
dreaming
scheming
your fire
can warm
but
your fire
can burn
Sadie had
said good-bye
before she
had said
hello


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