30 May




Mike’s painting was called SARDINES

and I wrote a new poem

which was only a bit burnt

and I sent it out immediately

to everyone I knew

and then I hated it

immediately, and with an unfortunate politeness

and myself

and the bowl of fruit on my writing desk

that distracted me

nagging me with the accuracy of a spouse

with its nectarous abundance

but it was only words

and I heard that Mike’s show went well

he sold most of his pieces

but not SARDINES

it did not go

it remained

lit up in the dusk of the SoHo gallery

with the ugly green awning peeling as a renaissance

so I walked around my room

because now I had the time

pacing like a script written on a Saturday

and then deciding on it

I sat back at that

accursed writing desk

exposed a flaw

noticed an arenose ekphrasis

tried to circumvent the suicide of the pen

and ate an apple  


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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