Harry Partch sitting quietly, reading a book
and I chuckle to myself,
coughing a bit on my cigarette,
imagining Harry Partch
in his pajamas,
reading a book quietly
by a fire
before realizing
the smile on my
vision’s face,
a smile despite the 10-years
he dedicated to dirt,
10-years without music,
and now I feel left out.
shoelaces in your
private corner
It’s magical,
feeling your shoelaces
beginning to make
a run for it,
while you sit
alone in your private
corner of the library,
the corner you had
to come early, 8 am,
to reserve,
and for a second
you let them run,
afraid to chase
after them
for fear of losing
your seat.
It’s magical,
feeling your shoelaces
beginning to make
a run for it,
while you sit
alone in your private
corner of the library,
the corner you had
to come early, 8 am,
to reserve,
and for a second
you let them run,
afraid to chase
after them
for fear of losing
your seat.
Reading Franz Wright
and talking to you
Reading Franz Wright and talking to you,
I smile at the decency of it all.
I smile for the oceans I smile at the decency of it all.
and the emeralds
hanging high over the little dipper.
Reading Franz Wright and talking to you,
I laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation,
and I have to keep feeling for my pulse.
I read, and I write,
all the while loving every moment under the sun,
secretly wishing I were under the moon.
Bio:
Kristopher D. Taylor is a poet from Florida. He posts his work regularly at kdtayorisstillhere.wordpress.
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