Status Updates From Selected Poems

If I had known that this is what happens,
When I first stood up and read;
That poetry is murderous,
Will strangle you and leave you dead;

Loving can be a heavy cross,
But you are beautiful and straight
And the secret of your spell
Is as strong as the riddle of Fate.

On eyelids, the wet lash of happiness.

My sleeve was rolled up and night brushed my elbow.

It's February. Weeping, take ink
Find words in a sobbing rush
For February, while black spring
Burns through the rumbling slush

Take a cab. Ride for a rouble
Through the wheel racket and bells throbbing
To where the downpour makes more din
Than the sound of ink and sobbing. . .

Thawed patches underneath show black
The wind is furrowed with cries, and then
The more suddenly the more surely
Verses sob from the pen.

But all is quiet. Not a leaf stirs.
Nothing anywhere to be seen,
Except the gulps and splashing galoshes
And sighs and tears in between.

Wow, this is awesome.