Threepenny Poetry

I am in the torch song business,

Proud to burn for love,

For the reader, for the strangers

Who find my dumb books in SF or Denver,

But mostly proud to light myself

On fire with page, pen and gaslamp. 

The corner of my room is rented

To spiders who pay me

By catching flies and silverfish;

The closet is sublet to memories,

Most of which I wish would move out. 

I get by one line at a time,

And the annual online compliment

From an ugly millennial 

Who is “thinking” of writing poetry;

And to them I always say the same thing:

You are either a poet or a dancer.