One more
Wednesday
I see trees
growing out of the soil
from what foundation,
i pondered
do these events stem from
later, in the day
almost midnight in fact
blues and poetry
in the streets of Klostergade
he read out loud
don’t quote me
“everybody doing nothing
for him that observes everything”
there’s so much space
for me to sing
for me to cry
in the streets
with the plaintive winds
as my unlikely saxophone melodies
of this melancholic night
that has a plain ending
some minute —-
          soon.

 

 

Modern Poetry