What Do You Call

What do you call a poet who won’t do it?
A sitter at tables with empty pencils
a slow starter tempted by some ending
a twister of strands into braid of past
with no future but abandon descending.

What do you call a driver driven
by how the highway winds through mountains?
What do you call a passenger passing up
an opportunity to tell the driver
what was seen and what it meant?

What do you call a bird that won’t beg
for a bite of this morning’s bagel
or the diner sucking dinner out of a bottle
or the cook who desserts the salad
or the restauranteur who consumes it all?

What do you call the solicitor of a cigarette
hacking for an hour out of the lack of it?
What do you call the sound of a city
too busy to hear itself scream a need?
Or the tourist fooled by bright lights?

Call them all crumpled pages
torn out and tossed into the fire
lit on the outskirts for no reason
except that it is a bit of life-like
destruction offering arousing.

What do you call a poet who won’t do it?
A sitter at tables with empty pencils
a twister of strands into braid of past
with no future but abandon descending
a slow starter tempted by some ending.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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