The Moon and a Homeless Man As Seen from my Mid-Twenties

The moon is a little dustball

caught in the charcoal cough

of the night what functioning heart

can truly withstand the minor key

I am fundamental in my alone-

ness but not alone in my fun-

damentalism I am fundamentally

addicted to the minor key- I smile

frequently I am fundamentally

repulsed by ‘n enamored with the idea

of my death let it be said that I am young

let it be said that I once ran

38 miles let it be sad when I finish

lest it be said that I lived unalive

& didn’t appreciate the erection

of my youth

There lies man with yarmulka tilted
only half off head horizontal
on a park bench (no park for meters)
And the car nearby still hot and odd-
smelling (would it be fundamentally
unoriginal of me to compare that car
to sex that man to death) goddamn
minor key let’s see you slather original
over the background of such gorgeous
sorrow humming
& the fluffmoon
just above?
[i wrote this poem on my iPhone]
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