Poem for Martin

You are a postmark

in that wherever you have been

you bear black ink from. The mark

of a writer, or a reader

of phonebooks. When given the choice

between the Yellow Pages and the Gideon,

you are torn in prophetic tests of strength.

These pages are what’s ripping you in half.

That, and motel anonymity.

Recent Posts

See All

Main Street Rag posted the book trailer for OxyContin for Breakfast. Forrest Gump ran across the entire United States. I walk around Key West. You can see the trailer on Main Street Rag's YouTube chan