“Day Bird,” Poem published by the Savannah College of Art and Design

Shut up Vicious!

Fat sits on a tray,

hosting burnt chicken.

Love was chubby beneath disdainful skin

and is now seeping uncontrollably

like a mother’s tears.

Eating only at noon,

I order goat cheese salad and heavy beer,

served by exotic waitresses

who are already rich.

They bow and slip the check under my plate.

Ella Fitzgerald’s heartbreak fills an empty cafe,

the jazz of love oddly happy,

stirring innocence in my coffee

as I embattle the smile of daylight.

My pen doesn’t work,

but this is my office.

Critics sigh as my un-showered hair glitters Eros,

a defiant mind.

Then 1997 stabbed 1968 in the back.

Every death betrays your birthday,

so East Village streets hurt poets

whose love affair with clarity

transcends human touch,

or most.

A flyer from one of my shows in 1997.
A flyer from one of my shows in 1997.

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