Go Little Sparrow

Thursday, March 10, 2005


Short poem, written about 15 yrs ago. Published in Way Stations:

The poet is monotonous, his head
resting on her empty sleeve,
his voice out of the mineshaft
muttering rumors of precious gems.

And stars shine in the black sky,
peacefully, released at last
from that deep unspoken gloom
by his aimless, undying lament.

- I am NOT Clint Eastwood (though people used to say I looked like him).


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