I'm write, where I'm to be
in the corner
brick & mortar
bookstore
lone hard chair
my right arm broken
with all my problems
I'll bet again sorrow will solve them
toboggan mountaineers
harden before me
in sections of books
that seem to only
be About poetry
they're already dead
the story for them
is on the dustjackets

I, and the wise
throwaway in trash baskets