P O E T S ON THE LINE
a continuing anthologyFounded by Andrew Gettler & Linda Lerner
No. 9 & 10
Edited by Linda Lerner
DAVID ROSKOS
Poem For Paulie
the snow is so peaceful
when its falling,
covers up the garbage.
I looked out the window
of the church after
the meeting last night
& thought of Paul B.,
Baretta.
He's dead due to a shot
he took in his arm
on a rooftop in New York.
He said he knew the needle
was infected, realized it
a second before he sunk it,
just had a gut-feeling,
paused
& said FUCK IT.
He died in the VA Hospital
in full-blown dementia,
lesions on his skin,
pockmarked face—
snow settles on his grave.
Sick
I am sick of smoke filled rooms
& charred feebase spoons
sick of needles in my arm
sick of sucking on crack pipes
and aluminum cans for that cocaine hit
sick of the sickness
& of feeling like shit
sick of LSD, pharmaceuticals & pot
sick of doing the same old thing
& gettin' what I've always gotsick of jonesin'
sick of jivin'
sick of just getting by
& barely survivingsick of emptiness
sick of shame
sick of being soulless
& of living from bag to bag
sick of scag
sick of dealers
sick of the street
sick of having difficulty
standing up on two feet
sick of eating out of garbage cans
even sicker still
of waiting on the mansick of loss
sick of fear
sick of paranoia
sick of the cops
sick of insecurity
& of being dirty
sick of dying
an untitled poem
broke open a moon
poured its milk
in the radiator
hundred dollars worth
of gas
in two 50 gallon
a cargo of constellations
we put it in drive & drove
over state lines
& across borders
gleefully giving
the toll-collectors
the last of our quarters
paying for groceries
w/broadsides
of out-of-print
Maxwell Bodenheim
poems
lecturing state-troopers
on the significance
of Wm Carlos Williams,
the importance of needle
exchange programs
in the schools.
discussions about addiction,
it's treatment
as a disease
& decriminalization
of narcotics
&, therefore, addicts.
where to end a poem
like this,
and how.
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