Weekly Sequential Poem
I give you the gift of poetry . . .
Read our weekly sequential poem . . .
Where the blue moon hangs over the city,
the smoke and ashes have become gritty;
a haze lurks over every alley,
there is no longer a place to parley,
where the black metronome of New York beats
a forte in wine and hard liquor, Keats
in a Greenwich café with lonesome Plath…
puddles reflect winsome rain, alley cats
disappear behind tenement decay,
and Brooklyn brownstones tempt the light of Sunday.
Here, there is one last copper saxophone.
– LILITH STREET, LABYRINTH COMING 2024 . . .