Living in prose

Concerned with the text of life

As it is written

On the cracked mirrors of bathrooms,

And subway walls,

In the urine of little boys spilling

Their small words in the dirt

The text expands with age

Multi-syllabic disasters and concerns

Death leaving those to mourn in

Loneliness and debt

Where’s the poetry for non-poets?

Is there enough

Life in verse to go around?

Haughty and regal verse rising

Above the mire in art and sophistication

Where’s the verse in death, poverty, and spirits

Haunted and struck by the closed hand of the Father?

The sun and verdant forests

To possess

To scorch and hide the verseless

With nothing but a hideous prose

To read on tragic walls

Life –

As it is written