For You To Live With

Torn about and washed by turbine heaven,
We are flipped snaps,
Vignettes someone watches.

Newspapers whip about our ankles,
Trying to tear us.
Consonants claw us; vowels violate us.

The late hour cloud our response, blue to black.
Just this once let’s not talk. And,
May sparkling stars embrace us with tender years.

These predictable cries ring the mountains.
Help me hold them back. For whether it is dirt in your face or another wrenched from the womb is unimportant,

kiss me.

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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