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TRANSPLANTED BEATNIK
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SQUANDERED SERENDIPITY
Pounding the pavement in the East Village feeling like a transplanted beatnik. I enjoy Indian cuisine and hit the St. Mark’s Bookstore. No need to hurry as all things are considered and I fail again. I head into a deli to buy a can of beer hidden in a brown paper bag. That bottle of rush behind the counter also winds up in my custody. No words are spoken as I observe people on their ways. No hurry—just passing thru the streets with no aim, no goal. . .
Processing the scene
cautiously seeking poem
waiting to strike gold
That Senryu works so well on
That Senryu works so well on several different levels---form, content, the sense of the given moment and yet the anticipation of a future moment. You have compressed so much resonance into that small space, and I applaud your verbal artistry.
Januarian
thank you for the kind words
thank you for the kind words