Recent Poetry

i’ve jumped on the twitter bandwagon. follow me at your own risk. — Jon Sarkin

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Jim raised his glass and then, reconsidering, put it down without drinking. To get here I’ve traveled some hard miles, he thought, the road was gravel and rubbled with rocks. This is not a metaphor. I mean he DID really walk miles to get here, and the road he walked WAS gravel, but at the same time, it IS metaphor in that his journey WAS challenging. But metaphor and literality – non-metaphor – are not mutually exclusive. But back to Jim. He was sitting at a table, an old oak table, that had seen better days, but so had Jim, and after all, haven’t we all? I don’t want to get all maudlin and hang-doggy. I really don’t. And neither did Jim. Yes, he WAS in a foul mood, but this was par for the course. Even birdie, whatever that means. Myself, I’m not much of a golfer. But that’s another story, and boy, what a story it is! And to say I’m not much of a golfer is an understatement of understatements, a sort of anti-hyperbole that bends back on itself like spacetime does in the presence of a black hole. I’ve no idea what I’m talking about of course, but talking about things I’ve no idea about is, I hate to admit, a compulsion of mine, like going on and on about phonies, when I myself am like the biggest phony you’re ever going to meet. Admittedly, this is a poor example, but citing poor examples is my stock in trade. It’s my trade in stock, too. Again, I have no idea what I mean. In that way, I’m a lot like Jim, aimlessly and randomly caroming about this life like a drunk playing pinball.

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