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...

Sunday, February 06, 2005

moon rabbit phantom

if the winter ceases
one morning to allow
fog moister air
we are all better off
the intuitions of
springtimes future past
that were pregnant w/
possibility
but cold will come
again first and the process
is never easy
but its good to air out
our living rooms cars
our brains
fog fog come and
stay come and stay
for at least a day
and the hours
roll on
while the
moon
the
rabbit
and the
phantom
hide

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