Gregory Corso Died For Our Sins
written by: Grant Guy
he was a pocketbook poet
left behind in a Greyhound depot
absorbing spit sweat & stench
in a godless black & white
Who reads the gasoline unlit
rose?
(only twenty-six years old)
a young wife escaping her abusive husband
thumbed through the pocketbook poet
looking for maybe a sign/some comfort
found nothing of what she sought
in a godless black & white
Who reads the gasoline unlit
jimmy not yet a man thinking he was
pocket full of condoms
leafed through the pocketbook poet
but his mind strayed from the subterranean words
to the opportunities that awaited a young man of america
in a godless black & white
Who reads the gasoline unlit
mr & mrs zabakoeski on their way to see their new grandchild
flipped the pages quickly
trying to find
any line
any line without profanity
unable to find
any line
any line to befit a Christian
they slid the pocketbook poet to the far end of the bench
in a godless black & white
Who reads the gasoline unlit
saul silverman who had a chapbook published by a small press
smiled as he turned the pages one after the other
of the pocketbook poet
he found the pocketbook poet overworked
less terse than his own
inferior poetry
(piece of shit)
in a godless black & white
Who reads the gasoline unlit
at 11 am roger tragg the depot custodian
picked it up the pocketbook poet with no ceremony
& dropped it without guilt or emotion
into the trash cart
in a godless black & white
the bus for dallas pulled out of the depot
in a godless black & white
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
I once purposefully left a book of poems on a bench at the Greyhound depot in Toronto. I watched people who sat on the bench with the book. I watched their reactions.
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