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Shawn McGrath is a young poet in an old beach town. He worships at the altar of Bob Dylan and Tom Waits, and wonders often how he went from Boston to Scotland to where he is now, but not in a disappointed way.
If you see him, buy him a glass of Red Label.
she greeted the mornings
with smiles of tyranny
and therefore, viewed
the voices of the poets
as upright dressings of words in books
and not as the names of things as they should sound,
resonating on gossamer strings
and she, pale-haired & envy-eyed,
turned a deaf ear to the warblings of the breezes
and allowed for the viburnum in the garden to return
always to mere shrubbery.
I cleared my belongings from her apartment.
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