There’s a leak
inside my head
from which the words
are pouring on a
regular basis,
the solidity
of others
is eluding
me. I am
renewed whenever
I take off
my clothes.  In closing
I just want
to say the words
appear inside
my skull like phrases
floating up
inside the darkness
of an 8-ball
made of nothingness
and being.
is an insider
in that respect.
The future may be
blind but there is
the perpetual
motion of
an inner monologue
to make
a person feel
at home, it’s probably
to the habit
of whistling in
a graveyard and the
earth is an
enormous cemetery
in outer
space.  If you keep
talking then you
won’t feel out of
place.  Reminds me
of the night when
we were reading
poems and the
riot squad
was breathing down
our necks because
we’re in the middle
of the street
and we were told
as long as we kept
talking it would
a lawful assembly
and they wouldn’t
arrest us.  They would
test us with
a mute intimidation,
and what
else is new.
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About Steven Gray

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Steven Gray has been living in San Francisco since 1849 and has rent control. Self control is another matter. Inflicted with the Narrative Imperative at a young age, he deflects it in the direction of a warped poetics. In 2006 he returned to open-minded mic, having languished for a long time in the more realm of the paper tiger. He is the Co-Editor of Out of Our, a literary magazine founded by Sarah Page, and is a member of the Revolutionary Poets Brigade.
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