Sometimes I think. . .

Sometimes I think I’m just too clever for words
I read poems by Ted Berrigan       by Frank O’Hara
by Charles Olson  by Guillaume Apollinaire      and the big earth 
floats on under the blue sky       till one day Patsy says
“But they’re all guys.      
                                    How come you don’t read
the girls?”     So I dip into Emily and Lorine and Alice
And Anne and even give Elizabeth a run around
the block, but sooner or later
                                        it’s back to the boys
Sometimes on a Wednesday      when it’s not raining
I’ll put the books down      and take a hike into the city
I love to watch the river flow      and ponder its destiny
I’ll stay there until the sun sets and the stars appear
I count them as friends     :    they’ve stayed with me
all my life, kept the faith,
                             peppered my dreams with light

John Lyons

One thought on “Sometimes I think. . .

  1. To offer her your pen that flows like a river, she’d have to read you under the stars and then she might prefer your poetry to that of your mistress. Ask her to bring Emily to a picnic and let the two of them read some poetry. Sometimes listening counts as a stand-in for reading.

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