Illusive Lantern

When you write 

Poetry, they ask me 

 

Do you do it 

In the morning,

 

At noon or night? 

And does it make 

 

Any difference 

As long as you 

 

Do it right? All I can say is 

I’ve spent most 

 

Of my life, right or wrong, 

Looking askance 

 

At that slant glint 

Of piercing light, still 

 

Waiting for the first sign 

I was right. 

 

 

 

Alms

“I have come to debase the coinage.” 
—Diogenes of Sinope 


Nobody 

At the crossroad, you know the score— 
What’s about to happen has happened before 

So many times nobody gives 
A plugged nickel anymore. 

Chew on This, Poet

Soon you will be begging for scraps 
Of paper to stave off your hunger— 

Better you had been born a dog.