Vincent Katz
Three Poems
Verve’s Room
That violence was all a part of it
It’s okay about the milkI love the workers
The ones who really get it doneFilms in the gutter, the pan
Obstacles acceded friendBlanketed lust extended
Metropolitan
Foreign entities tiled
As the lady in furs bent over
Good Friday
perusing the muffins, she glided
back to her skinny table, blackly
the eagle of right thought
lands at my feet and smiles
I can know each of them
without ever speaking
can tell this one is good
by the way she combs her hair
that one has a tragic failing
need to please, each breathes a
trembling, avid humanity
and I know each without
speaking, like a farmer