thus ends archive week for me, and i'll be back at it pounding things out at my dusty pc come monday morning at 5:00 am. so this poem is from 1993, when i was a wee lad of 19 years old, and most probably wished i was Jack Kerouac:
prayer #53
and very well
think i can
still pray at night
like i did as a kid
remember the words
of that long prayer
song
to whom i return my
broken baggage
to what do i answer
for my sin (to whom?)
and for what reason
do i walk like a dumbsaint
through the oakland rainsoaked
street
passed the homes of
friends i’ll never see
again
1993
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment