There was a rather attractive bearded man loitering in the literature section with a Virginia Woolf in hand, but he didn't pick up the poem. Those bearded men, who knows what they'll do next.
Upside down over morning coffee
my lips are quiet, ear to table.
You rise - cannot stop to fill a
moment but race to rape the
landscape of new and next.
No time to search a new town for
ciabatta and lemons
Only paper ink and glue and another
man's practice of praise and blame.
You absorbed and absolved
every phrase moves you. Your mouth
eats tears. But the birds outside
do not know of your conquests.
The wind inscribes the lake with
patterns that are not words.