HEARTS FILLED WITH PASSION AND JEALOUSY, AT LEAST
Someone I know writes achingly
of a family death, of loss and hope,
the words of the Latin Mass a glory--
and all I can feel is envy.
TunnelVision: you don't get
to buy one in a store, there is no
HDTV model for extreme focus
human concerns are forced
in one direction after five years
of listening to the verbal shoves
Do The Book Do The Book
like so squawking macaw in a pet store
so at last I am listening
it is almost done and it might be okay
Envy reigns, focuses life
I wanna grow one like everyone else
only bigger
"Schmuck" is appropriate
For do what with?--not get rich
name a rich poet <tick tick tick>
told you so
Back to the top, Latin words
departure and consolation
beat back the brain of death with words
collected all over my skull
like dust bunnies, seek my
immortality.
Waste of time unless I define
immortality as a remainder table
or a layer of dust bunnies
on a book in a bookshop.
But must: not to cheat death.
Not to be the poetry stud of the northeast
but because it is a task, and it is my task,
my ego, my love, and it's better than sex,
which only means my sex life has
gone real boring.
KTW/5-18-05
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