Moonlight

What did you think? That poems would save you?
How could a young man be nostalgic?

Yes that was me—picking mushrooms
Singing songs by Blake

Votive twigs under my tongue.
Baby poets are sentimental.

At twenty, and because Lorca said it,
I went to a graveyard

To eat some grass.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto