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 bio, url, foto credit or new foto if he’d like to