Glenn Mott

Poetry again, I
don't want to
seem fully convinced
of its value.

A ruined house
is a miserable thing
after abusing our
bodies in new clothes.

The white man on
the beach red elbows
and toes orange heels
brown stains.

Creeping beards with
some old frolic
left in the step & groin
dragging with them

the wealth of the
Ukraine. Trick is
to get the money
before the legs go.

Perhaps you will recall
to me Baudelaire.
While you were young
time descended

the weakness
of perhaps.
The right to be alone—missing
in thought. The right to quit

a daydream.
Climbing the mountain
with your book
They always sound the best

who let no ideas stand
in the way of knowing.