Frisco Street Poet by Curtis Blazemore

for Zach Houston

sings like tequila for dollar a poem

slinging words like idiot street-corner savior

that he is

just sings it

for chrissakes works out a genius eight-liner on his

sunlit typewriter right

before my sunday morning eyes

crowds edging around his vaguely turdly smell but

I keep forking over bills

witness to poetic will I covet more

purely than any woman I’ve ever seen

knocking out little diamonds any topic

or theme

answers questioned

surprises reversed

structures built and designed in

rhythm with meter & slanted rhyme…

dude can make a bowl of meaning anywhere

& that’s it that’s the bravery

parking yourself on a corner imagining

poems for any random dick or jenny &

doing it man

I mean really doing it then just

shooing poems & people away like dirty orphans

Curtis Blazemore has been on the planet far too long, publishing various works in between having bad luck and making people rethink their faith in humanity. No matter. He sees sentences in the exhaled smoke and scribbles furiously. He hopes someday to be able to afford a Greyhound bus ticket to Graceland.