Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Poem - To Robert Funge - down it goes / with a hundred things or more

bob funge is dead
but he lives in my mind
because there is a part of my consciousness
where there is no time

there will always be a place
in my soul and heart
where it is fine to drink
and a place where bob is working
at his desk on poetry

he'll be at the house
on elm street in san carlos
with the yard gone to hell
and the room where the drapes
gently fell apart

bob didn't care about clothes
or money or property
or dumb stuff like that
he only cared about poetry
correspondences and baseball

he mostly only cared
about poetry

he worried about only
two things
his son and his daughter

daughter couldn't
get clean

so when he couldn't sleep
he'd walk the streets of the town
at night the cops knew
who he was

or when he got angry
he would walk
the streets at night

or when he was worried
he'd walk again
at night

i see him walking
at night and working
on poems

down it goes
with a hundred things
he told me and we laughed about

i can see one of his books
from where i sit now

the ultimate tribute

down it goes
with a hundred things or more
he told me and we laughed about


-----

Dedicated to Robert Funge
Sept. 13, 1931-
Mar. 22, 2013





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