Tossed pejoratives have narrowed the field. Out back
The grass grows while stasis and beautiful sunsets go hand And heart. From the north the glove is removed.
Satellite pictures gloss the subject. A vast patina
Has descended. “And, am I glad to see you.”
Others find the fog and traffic a distillation connected
To the end times like the frost on the lawn that stretches
Away from early times. Discontent has moderated
The flow of things around the basin.
Tasks were started up and rejected

Out of hand. Perspective is a two-way street.
Dinner arrives quietly comforting no one.
A tossed narrative, such as this,
Disjointed such as it is, links the shy
And the bold in a leap time devours.

Indirectly I still love you.
This essence is not linear.
Encouraging modal tones over abrasion
Is the way we survive.

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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