Some say faith, like
love, is blind. But I will
tell you from my self’s self
I get goddamn tired of

living in the unseen abstract.
I am a living construction
of flesh and blood and
sore joints and headaches
just like everyone else.
Being a poet makes me no
less corporeal than the next

mere mortal, and no matter
how much I live amongst
words like some go to
live amongst the færies.
I still need the solid and

concrete: a table to rest
my notebooks on, a hook for
coat and hat, waffles for breakfast
once in awhile, strong
coffee, whiskey when we can.

So show me something real
now and again. I live on
more than simile and
metaphor. You may start with
a kiss, right here, to warm me up.
We’ll play the rest by ear.



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