the little park welcomes peace,
but not my boots, so I circle
lest we leave or loiter.
Tim Donnelly shows up
with a blue bottle,
yelling about a reading
he had just come from.
The windows around us
have eyes and ears;
they know all about me
and my blood-red poems.
with a copy of Krom Mesje
tucked under her hairy pits,
talking about wars.
O how canst thou love thee
a begot wouldst know
with the utmost respect
for thou forsaken me.
I've given my spirit
to these streets
and I have nothing left
to give, dreadeth fool.
Franco shows up,
fired from his job,
selfish in his soliloquy
My true intent
is that in the middle of
the owl and the pussy cat:
to give up, escape.
my Irish exit is soberly ignored,
because their selfish hope prevails
and they move on towards courage.