[2JR]

I would like to share with you a poem written
by a favorite poet of mine named Michael Burkard.

Relatively unknown to most netizen-types, Burkard
has been around the poetry- scene for about thirty
years.He started publishing in the '70's and his new collection, "Unsleeping", is at your local bookstore
now.

To those of you unfamiliar with his work, I
would like to greet you with "I Entered A House",
from "Fictions from the Self", his 1988 collection
from Norton. It is, and will always be, one of the
few books I remain faithful to for one simple reason:
it has been faithful to me-- even at those times
I most hated poetry.


I Entered a House


I have this tremendous fear of dying, tomorrow,
whether I stay or go. I have this tremendous fear
of suffering in death, whether I shave or
don't shave, whether I kiss you, or you kiss me,
or no one kisses anyone for the time being.

I have this tremendous fear I entered a house
which forgot about me, and still forgets,
and the clocks are still suffering, waiting
for someone, anyone, to cross their legs, to
light a cigarette, to leave.

While, while. Anyone leaves. I had a dream
and now I can't fint it. I am sleeping in a kiss,
my clothes are sleeping. It was still
raining, I was
walking out of my shoes.




[This message has been edited by 2JR (edited December 06, 2001).]