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iriswoodruffPoems
Well, in one of the various underground labyrinths before you get on the L train back uptown. A man, young man, sitting at a harshly assembled desk behind an old typewriter behind a sign: (F-R-E-E Poetry) feverishly typing stopping to pause every few seconds behind a line of six people Including me Waiting for our Free poems, please. wore a scarf and hat because it is cold In Brooklyn in January Six clicks, space, pause, eleven clicks Enter, Behind furrowed features Something metaphysical A ghost.   Everyone in line leaning forward— Make something Holy for us Angel. (didn't look up once.)
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Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
I saw a real Angel on the subway once
Well, in one of the various underground labyrinths before you get on the L train back uptown. A man, young man, sitting at a harshly assembled desk behind an old typewriter behind a sign: (F-R-E-E Poetry) feverishly typing stopping to pause every few seconds behind a line of six people Including me Waiting for our Free poems, please. wore a scarf and hat because it is cold In Brooklyn in January Six clicks, space, pause, eleven clicks Enter, Behind furrowed features Something metaphysical A ghost.   Everyone in line leaning forward— Make something Holy for us Angel. (didn't look up once.)
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iriswoodruff
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
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