It is winter

a street sweeper sweeps

leaves up from Main Street


I’m sitting with my notebook

writing a poem about the symbolism of phlegm

remnants of furtive strategies


the morning tries to wake me

the cars to support me

the cold ground to go around me


an idea passes by about a man

addicted to self-help–he reads two

to three books a day

paralyzed by memories


I stop to wipe my nose on my sleeve




It is winter

the Post sports a picture

of a boy juggling kiwis


before I enter the office

a dwarf steps out of the drugstore

someone suggested he came from the subconscious

I argued he was a messenger


I ask him if he tends bar

request his business card




It is winter



and fall

I’m not degenerating

actually, almost fully marinated


I flex out my fingers

squeeze into a fist

unhitch the gate


unscrew the top of a baby bottle

squeeze in some carcinogens

insert my bristle brush

twist and tug


with only a tinge of despair


by Alan Katz


Alan attended the Tupelo Press Writers Conference on Barter’s Island, Maine, where he studied with Jeffrey Levine. He writes at the Brooklyn Writers Space, a collective in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.

Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud