David Markson
Old. Sick. Alone. Broke. Tired.
In New York City
Noting Bhartrari's bemoaning
Of the poverty of poets in Sanskrit

In Charlotte
My neighbors invite me
To celebrate Holi with them
Purple. Green.
Queen city? Ameen.

The Madame Curie School
The Indian professor at GMU tells me
These are not ordinary students.
Indeed.

I am an obsessive.
Women, words, White Nights
I discover Mr. Markson's works.
Tragic magic soars:

Mine eyes hath seen the glory
Of Rabindranath Tagore. :)