Poetry

A tremulous place of anticipation and dread,
suspicion the colours are changing, are they changing?
What is the sound of a silent train arriving?
Apparently, I’m to depart. I’ve been informed
I have a ticket. I seem to have forgotten

I asked Artificial Intelligence
to write a poem
in the style of Ward Maxwell.
It worked so well
I’m going to use it again.

some people drift through life
others steam ahead, forge their destiny
I’m a pinball

in the midst of our teeming squalor
our inexcusable excesses
the moments when everyone says
shut the fuck up, not right now

I’m seizing the moment.
Not because the Romans told me to.
Because the moment is trying to seize me.

what does superman do when no one needs him
who is superman when he isn’t with us
where is superman when he isn’t here

In Nantes, within a private library
there is a hand bound book, made of soft
now faded lambskin, held together with a
small leather belt. It is one of a kind.

one black, one white
one Father, one Dad
won’t tell

words
become