Chuck is a poet

I know this poet Chuck
who uses second person
as a kind of habit,
and I asked him once,
you know, I knew he’d been asked
many times before, I’m sure,
about his tendency to slide
or slip into saying, “you”
when it clearly is an “I”-thing
or moment or
Well, you know it can be
so irritating when you
start talking as if you
knew what the other person
thought, when of course you couldn’t
but it is so funny when you
see it happening because you
can’t resist it. You just about
fall into the habit like you’d
done it your whole fucking life,
now that you think about it.

I know I had it…

I know I had it
at the tip of my writing finger
something about each of us
having a personal
ring of Hell
We live in or no
was it of our creation
in our long lives
and of course Dante
He came to mind because of an Akhmatova
poem, I happened upon
on my way to something else
but that never materialized.

On a scale…

On a scale of one to ten
I would like to bend
You and me
To a perfect figure eight
Climbing slowly to nine
In all its lopsided
And end in
Double digits that
Are the start
In reverse
From zero.

political poetry

Looking at the 1944 Poetry magazine, I realized that in that time at the end of the war there was no option to not turn a gaze at the devastation everywhere. I would think it odd if a poet ignored the news of that day.

That said, I find it difficult to find a poetic voice in current events. In the moment, there seems nothing beautiful or whole in the muddled mess. But as a historical piece, these thoughts and observations are crucial and interesting and, in a voyeuristic way, beautiful.

There is still much difficulty finding the real in our political and warring paths. Perhaps I am not the one to write them, and I think whoever writes them will be better understood later, much later.

to the poet
who is always in a restaurant
drinking some pulped liquid
or wine something or other
fuck you and all your awards
for poetry that is more than boring.


Ok, give me my poet back
And nobody’ll get hurt.
Just leave him at the door
And walk away slowly—
No need to ponder this one
Any longer. I know he
Might be worse for wear
And I have no assumptions
About longevity of arrangements
But you gotta believe me
That there isn’t anyone
Out there who will take
Better care of him,
And I’m sure he’s probably
Driving you all crazy
By now.