JOHNNY MAGAZINE
Inside a hidden magazine, inside
the dark corners of pages, endless
squalor and want. I have closed
this notebook now forever. The
dove, watching me from a short
distance, doesn't quite know
what to make of what is seen.
-
Johnny Magazine, oh listen now
to me. My books are burned, and
only embers remain, but the words
in smoke now tell a different story.
What you can write can never
equal what I have said.
-
Some men leave chalk circles on
the sidewalks where they have
lived; others mark their rooming
houses with paint and semblances.
I've been an orphan all these days,
with nothing to leave but nothing.
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