tumbled soaking

imitation life-flavored

pasteurized process

standing necklaced

smell around you

desert-like

toe-tagged

when all is still the bike falls over

you can’t look down when you’re walking on the water

reading people’s minds I’d rather have a talker

you know what you’re thinking

braceleted awkward

not shaken, learned not to burn

frozen dairy dessert

not stirred, stirred

God’s name is a verb and so am I

my body will be a noun when I die

I can get to that later –  in plenty of time

Some one is down on the tracks at some other station

identifying as a verb in a disordinary location

we can all try being dead now for fifteen minutes

pavement pounding paused

and the infrastructure’s drumming

gradually echoing down

in diminishing ripples

in the suddenly temporary

body at rest

The universe is a verb

it keeps growing plus it wiggles

since the train wheels stopped turning we’ve gone thousands of miles

because to steer clear of the black holes

you’ve got to keep flying

Stand clear of the closing doors

Okay now, here we go.

Sheol is a noun

and so’s a black hole.

Ptr Kozlowski has been writing poems along the way through a varied life. He learned letterpress printing from his father in Connecticut and worked as a typesetter in San Francisco in the late 1970’s, where he also was a roadie. Back East, he’s been a truck driver and a NYC cabbie. He played guitar, sang and wrote songs with JD Rage in a New Wave band called Baby Boom that played at A7, CBGB’s and the SIN Club, and put out an EP “Basket Case” in 1984.  Now living in Brooklyn, Ptr likes to draw upon past experience to bring a musical perspective to the spoken word.