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...

Thursday, February 03, 2005

nadine and the black crows

we drove to the curb
where a flock of black
crows gathered
'someone's going to die'
she said
'who will die'
I said
She was very upset
I suppose someone
HAS
died
since
Nobody
I know,
Anyhow, the cat
and I are here,
Tasha's
her
name,
sittin' on the desk,
purring,
thats
about
it

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