All articles filed in poetry

there in the dregs of
a New York City summer
he strums his black guitar
then leans into the microphone,
and another voice floats out
of the stillness to join his, still
looking, after all these years,
for america.

the book of poems
came tied up in pink string,
with a little white flower
nestled in the knot.

the endurance, you know, was a good brave boat
and I hear the titanic was mighty nice

forgive me for breaking the silence,
but i was getting tired of the way
you were staring straight through me
and out the window toward the garden.