22
When the words do not
Arrive like a parcel I
A sailor blinking
At the red and green the Christmas
I like the imagery of your poem
Said the critic but
Your rhyme is forced thus
Depleting your meaning and I say
I have no meaning the clouds sink
And toothpicks
Were my name Gunter Grass
Cochise, mama
How I could have said that I am a natural spy
In the interview in the Jack Bauer room
Instead I somewhat dissembled telling them that
I admire Vaclav Havel and shouldn’t all poets be
In charge?
Marry me, girl,
The stars are blank and the sun
Has never risen.