An Excerpt from My New Book of Poems

The sky lights up like a blank TV screen
then blackens. What happens
to the soul? Does it

arrow north or south, a flock
of Arctic terns? Does it
stir the limp limbs

of a fetus
in its bubble? Or does it
crumble, a fist

of dry oak leaves?
I squat between a murmuring metropolis
and a cacophonous town.

I visit. I roam their streets alone.
Strange tongues point like fingers.

Read my book, Good Friday 2000, for free.

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