Saturday, November 7, 2009

Breakfast With Nine Black Alps

Drop what’s in your hands
the bones you’ve collected have details you didn’t anticipate

“prison doors sound like wedding bells
as you ask for change at the wishing well.”

what moral compass
who the patient zero

of fireworks and discovering Auschwitz for the first time
shivering under a bridge in a cold rain
this is a portrait of your finest hour

framed by a chilly November morning
as the sun breaks through the Youngstown fog

while a lady wearing trash bags as shoes is seen reading
letters written the previous night under the glow of a streetlamp.

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