A Friday Poem (Time/Change)

“may is full of prospect”

says the poet

who writes about time 

who measures breaths

in months and in sunsets

in tuesday’s and in numbers of winters

“it’s hard not to be sad in the summertime”

the poet professes 

to no one in particular

he sips espresso 

and fails to flinch at an obvious cliché 

hanging in the air by a noose
the poet tries not to sweat

or show that the espresso is too strong 

but the talk of months and emotions

gives him away

his eyes point to the girl  in Gramercy park

he says that writing about text messages 

is not writing because it doesn’t sound

like Edgar Allen Poe

there’s something off about writing

on paper, something

that is virtually not there

not there

like May

 like September 

like winters and sunsets

like words from a mouth that is not your own

“but august,”

says the poet,

“is a kiss on a screen that fades to black “


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