Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Untitled 400

When I say that I'm after you, Mr. Sinatra,
I don't mean in the same way a shy boy is secretly
thinking of the blonde who just strode through
the doors of the bar,

Nor to you, Yeats, does it mean
I am after you in the fashion
the slow song always follows my favorite
on the album or the radio,
reminding me that words aren't always
meant to be pretty.

What I mean in saying I'm after you, Michelangelo,
is that in the scope of linear time,
I follow you, although not necessarily in your footsteps.

When we have seemingly ceased to create
When we have compared everything in the world
to something and anything else,
I will continue to find my answers
Staring down the barrel of a pen--

--Once you, Leonardo, Tolstoy, and Pop,
are nestled somewhere below the ground
and among the thoughts of those in particular
who will come after me,
I too, will have served my time.

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