William Keckler. Poet, Narcissist, Blawger. Formerly, the Valerie Solanas of American poetry blogs. If I owe you an apology, I'm saying it right here. Goreyphile from a very early age. I wish I could say humans move me closer to God, but usually it's the Cocteau Twins. On most days crazy as a Trappist monk talk show. I don't hate anyone but human coat hangers get on my nerves.
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FAINT PINK VALENTINE
More and more woman
and more and more man
or less and less man
and less and less woman
says that waferous brain stain
three quarter moon faint
pink from poking the future
too far into the past
where movement stumbles
into forms and embarcaderos
even for those who don’t know how
or won’t commit quite yet
four white freshwater pelicans skim
this world and peonies at the store.
SINGING FRIDAY VALENTINE
What would you like to see first
in my collection of spiritual songs
now imagine the context the actors
in which this might be surveyed
I’m sorry to have to speak to you directly
I’ve sent the metaphors away
a tiny room is all a poem can afford right now
not the market for mausoleums once enjoyed
I was thirty years ahead of him but
but for a few moments no barrier at all
we were forced to meet outside
the constructs of conscious time
it was not all very silly standing there
together in the holy of holies.
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