Poem
Do not die I said
to the train.
It was sad.
It didn’t want to
be a person; it wanted to be
a bird. All birds being dead
at birth. Angel-ing the earth. Seraphic
ovulation of earthen clouds.
I want to be a saltine
in a birds gut. Incubated
then shat
on the roof
of a steel train.
After Ginsberg
Rothschild’s face rejecting Byron’s
smushy kiss. He’s not aromantic per se.
He’s a romantic. It’s just –
no mood today to bash mustaches
with dead masters.
There’s mail to sort. Presents
to pick the tape open on.
The floral wrapping will
live long past any dangling
asphodel or aunt’s
unhanded pot of gobblings.
O Captain. Nudge your
chariot closer to my bent
ear. I’m not buying
Byron’s sweetments either.
Let’s dish about it.
Sean Cole is the author of After These Messages (Lunar Chandelier Press), The December Project (Boog Literature), and several chapbooks including Itty City (Pressed Wafer). His poems have also appeared in the journals Hanging Loose, Brooklyn Rail, ArtFuse, Court Green, Black Clock, Boog City, and elsewhere. For almost 30 years, he’s been a reporter, producer, and occasional guest host of various public radio programs and podcasts, including more than a decade at This American Life.