CITY CAB
Entering a cab,
hearing Coltrane,
hearing sax improvisations
making life on the asphalt
more than posthumous
for street poets.
Not needing the respect
of the black tie crowd.
Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Entering a cab,
hearing Coltrane,
hearing sax improvisations
making life on the asphalt
more than posthumous
for street poets.
Not needing the respect
of the black tie crowd.