Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
OVER A DARK GROVE Over the dark grove fighting the poisons of false love at the finish line here in the Paris Marathon of another generation watching the quarter moon to question every encounter with my French girlfriend under the Continue reading Over A Dark Grove by BZ Niditch
AT THE THEATER Watching Chekhov’s play “The Seagull” with my Russian friends up in the balcony with a confessional love poem slowly emerging in my smiling imagination when there is no language that could sabotage or upstage the Beat in Continue reading At The Theater by BZ Niditch
THE TAXI CAB MAN The poet asks how much as his Dutch friend puts his hand on the meter does not dare to talk about money at new year’s time they are both tired and stood up tonight by their Continue reading The Taxi Cab Man by BZ Niditch