As long as there are books to fill my spirit
and light coming through the fire escape
we are the idiots engaged in idiot boxing.
The white plate gave a low groan of pleasure:
It must be spring, harrying females from behind,
erasing the imagination of a newly minted jedi mind.
Oh, I see, you died.
I needed pleasant surprises,
four roses at two dollars each from my beau.
We dream inside now of different stars and our own invention.
A hushed whooshing sound means I might not be alone tonight.
You are my new private possession, aren’t you,
soothing, before the glass.
During every First Tuesdays open mic, we communally compose a cento using language taken from each open-mic reader’s offering. This cento is composed of lines from the work of: Elizabeth Lara, Luvon Roberson, Marty Levine, Bob Ward, Gordon Gilbert, David Siller, Norman Stock, Lydia Chang, Catherine Fletcher, Peter Marra, Maria Lisella, Henry Sussman