Short Overwritten Poems

He was a slave to one of his books
and for all of the looks
cast upward he then did wrong
The book had been his as a kid
the knowledge for what he did
all of the bad was written
Fake read and done as hes told
The binding grows old
as does the kid
When death overtook
no longer did the book
have any words
Page by page
Blank.
Unwritten, Overwritten, His story
Blank....

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Whatever was here has gone.
Already the world has filled in
the empty spaces.
Children play on scars.
Traffic noise has overwritten 
the silence.
Nothing remains.

Each poem becomes a hole
in which what has gone
or is going
is kept and kindled for a while,
throwing off a little light
to be anointed with love
and cradled in a hope 
something of it will survive
…..somewhere....

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 Draft beer,

chess boards,

and Kerouac cool.

Cerebral grafitti and
a Robot-in-Drag juke box
bubbling out fifty years of good jazz.

A virtuoso burger flipper
destroying the laws of physics,
making gravity play the fool.

On the restroom walls,
the surfaces held
musings of poets

and philosophers…

overwritten since, 
by lesser bards

and now
closed.

Soon to be
apartments....

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