--- L E O N A R D   G O N T A R E K

What good is the fire? The bread is good too.



The bird should be an inch to the left.



How will we know what is there to run from



with nothing spreading out of control?



Running into the arms of those running the other way.



Clothes laced with scent. Damp smoke.



Some who have given up cigarettes long ago.



Doesn't the pop song doesn't the crude matter of pop











if not eventually transform, equal gold?



Stand alongside passion. Strangers partnered.



One husband with another's wife at the



beginning of an obligatory dance.    



The petals outside now that you think of it



fall like ash with sound as wind sways



it into piles. Now it seems



it has always been of ash.



Aren't the sparks beautiful?



You have to admit that drifting erratically in the dark,







moments before you conclude



rightly it is your roof your



house. You calmly remove the



phone from its cradle



hold it there in your



hand for too long.