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...

Friday, February 04, 2005

green beans

colors of things
in supermarkets
or stores
lined up like
soldiers plastic
alert
so very there
its all zen-like
and I stare
maybe this is paradise
like God's son said
and we don't have
the right eyes
mustard
mayonaisse
macaroons
meats
magazines
...on and on..
nothing is superfluous
to the whole
but what is this big
infinite organic machine
I used to like to steal a few raw
green beans and eat them right there
but haven't done
that in a while

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