April 23, 2007


Don't look at this poem.
You are staring.
I stare back.
Your eyes are clamped here.
It is damp here, but my throat is dry.

This poem is a shamble down an alley of broken glass,
relief from rowdy talk in the Tav.
You are asking questions this poem cannot answer.
At best you can rest here.
I cannot answer, but I sing a ragged song.

—Richard Denner

Posted by dwaber at April 23, 2007 12:48 PM