Volume One Issue Two
Dan Nowak
A Return to the Past After History Failed Me
McGrath, Whitman is no use.
I am not sexy enough in the dark.
I have listened ‒ song of myself,
may not be for me ‒ am I so invisible?
Am I stuck in your fifth season
without crops, without a physical labor?
My bones want to work and you
leave no directions. This air is supposed
to stink of revolution, of burnt ground
and charred Armani suits. Give me a sign,
a frost white star, anything on how to start
making the rich feel closer to the earth.
I dream I am a corpse, but less
only to feel my dreams? Tell me Tom
where is the honor for living dead?
When can these lands sew a new flag?
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.