In Passing

All the wisdom culled from passing freight
Cars was a pastiche of countries
Dreamed of as they slid away.
Portable gang graffiti and hobo mumblings
From distant villages in the hinterlands.
Does Jill really blow and is Ned a freak?
Half a journey’s stories subtracted,
Placate the mind’s conjuring additions.
I’m walking the tracks over you,
Can’t sleep its true. Waiting
To get my due as the locomotive
Comes on through.

Part of the problem is the lack
Of faith in rhyme and reason. Look
What it has brought us in this
Smog-ridden century, convolutions lusting
After the rightly unattainable.
Passing the container ships and
Their now undesired conundrums
Makes us a little less anxious
After all is said and unfinished.
The porters packing it in,
A last look to the sinking light
On the water. We nibble a dry sandwich,
Wait for cost analysis, etc.
You are more gargle than gargoyle
When you quietly go on.

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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