a famous poet face
timed me while I was standing
on the sidewalk with Michael
drinking hot tea and talking
about the stitching together
of ancient moments today
I know what everyone wants to know
is what’s a poet doing with a phone
his white goatee as puzzling
as twitter, his scratchy warbles
formidable as tinder
his empire of reminiscences
rich in pixels and RAM
I know what everyone
wants to know is how
was the tea, too hot
too bitter, too past
too pent up in its paper
or did it row me slowly
to a balmy conference room
beyond the bedtime of germs
and right beside my reservoir
of courage and understanding
I know everyone wants to know
where this reservoir is
in case they need to find me
and remind me of what time it is
but don’t worry I know
what time it is, oh wait
it’s a different time now
and now again
Oh, man, I really love "too pent up in its paper/or did it row me slowly..."
ReplyDeletemerci i was glad when i thought to describe the tea in its cup that way
Delete