It’s sunny and glad and green
in my zoned-for-happy neighborhood
and on this happy day I see the life I didn’t have:
miserable and poor, a creep in fact;
I reek from
too much booze and too little soap
but I compose such lovely verse
croaking hymns to beauty
and the wickedness of God’s
singular creation who shits his
nest and calls it art or truth or justice
but in one’s singular lifetime
it’s enough (don’t you think):
one single wicked beautiful poem.
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Hi Herb,
ReplyDeleteDo you read ever at Deerfield Library- I see there is a poetry reading on Tuesday's at 6:30. I wondered if you had gone, and if you thought it was worth reading at. I just found out about it, news travels slow when you are a Highland Park transplant from Deerfield.