Vincent Katz

Three Poems

Verve’s Room

That violence was all a part of it
It’s okay about the milk

I love the workers
The ones who really get it done

Films in the gutter, the pan
Obstacles acceded friend

Blanketed lust extended
Foreign entities tiled


As the lady in furs bent over
perusing the muffins, she glided
back to her skinny table, blackly

Good Friday

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

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