You have come to be closeted in the wind & so
I ask you to take my hand, touch
The gravel traces that run
Thru the weeds on the sidereal clip.
They dangle from the projector,
The projectionist too tired
For the catapult,
Too tired,
For the sad tales we cough up
Into his arms.
Ah, you have touched my heart
With your weary composure.
I will ask you no more to run
Across my screen.
We are popcorn bodies
In an empty theatre.

Published by William Cowan

I'm from the East Coast, have lived in SoCal and now Northern California for some years. I've been writing quite awhile, published in 1992 in a literary quarterly: "Suspicious Humanist," vol. 2, #2, (20 pages.) Best job: fm on air personality on a now defunct station, "Evening Eclectic" music show, and a weekly poetry reading show. I played jazz and free/improv I enjoyed. Read Wallace Stevens, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, etc. and commented on the poems. I have read once at a local coffee house. Love the Bay Area, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I am going to appear in an east coast anthology of best new poets of 2010 by the end of the year, published in Pennsylvania. I'm reading once a month at a brewpub in Marin with a group of fellow poets. We read to each other our work, and personal favorite poems of authors we enjoy. It is a pleasure to share with a community of fellow enthusiasts.

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