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CORSO
When my back was turned, Corso slipped away somewhere in Wisconsin silently, without protest carried off by Charon across a gasoline river. There was no bomb to announce his departure, no Queens orphanage stopped frozen in a silent moment. In the small park at the north end of Salt Lake City no one lifted a…
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A POET IS
A poet is a child who on seeing a blank page must fill it with dreams hears the song of the nightingale in the din of passing traffic comforts the lonely mother recalling the pain of a thousand births sees in each passing cloud the tears of a generation feels the heat of the sun…
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CENSORS
They stole his words, carefully sidling up to him when he was distracted, and plucking one left hanging from a pocket or in his room at night slid one from the dresser. He never saw them and never suspected. They toyed with him, for a while taking only verbs, leaving him transfixed and cursing his…
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MUSINGS
The poet muses: I wonder if a cat purrs when no one is in the same room. I suppose we could put in a microphone and find out. Schrödinger comments: if there is no microphone the cat is purring and the cat is not purring, and what is the half- life of a poem.
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an old writer and his words 