Monday, May 24, 2010


For Walt Whitman

I should have rubbed my hands together
I should have made a spark
to light up my body electric
inside the gloomy dark.
A lamplight for my breed
not just for the margins
but the poets who have a need
who don't succeed,
and end up in the trash bins.

But the man in me toiled away
and the woman in me begged you stay
And I gave you all I hide in the attic
but all that I received was static.

I should have used my mouth and teeth and lips
But my jaw and jawnings hinged
and to my hips
I held
with my wrist joints connected
to my palms
nothing there was resurrected
but I had
a thumb for each finger counted
et cetera, et cetera, et cetera,
could have been pointing to
then no one would forget ya
just justifying everything else
while instead I was singing a song for myself.

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