Three dollar anarchist poetry
Reminds me of the leaf-strewn paths
And lonely quarters
where I used to rest

The spark was found there
And the fire, the godly warmth, the godly risk
Around my hands
The ecstasies of fear and joy, so wonderful, so necessary
For everything that’s bright and rare.

So much of that mysterious place…
The greatest parts, didn’t look so great on paper
Wind carries off the brutal word
Smug and exhausted signs cannot bear
A swift and lifting gesture

Digg!

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 22nd, 2009 at 4:13 pm and is filed under Art. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.