Saturday, August 07, 2010

Poem - he looked

he looked the way a drunk looked
he took pride in this denial

he thought he was like a sordid champ
even like a writer about to do the best work

he brought paper and pen but he did the crossword puzzles
to not think about anything

left every night by 11 the same way
in & out through the side entrance or back door

it is a bad dream for a dreamer who thinks
they still dream

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