Let Go

There is order in the fragments.
Cups in a late night diner
are melody, stacked chairs the staff.

Chaff comes, goes, we separate
not always wisely. I hold on
too long to the discards, the stones, and rocks.

Rocks, beautiful stones arranged
worn do not feed or satisfy.
I’m down in my cups

amongst the chaff, the wind blows.
The staff has gone home. We rock
back & forth, fragments of a song

God only knows.

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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