B.Z. Niditch

On a port city
consumed by sun
without belongings
you embark
on red sands,

two alembic letters
already wrinkled
by the sea
and desert winds
a revolver
from Verlaine
(no bullets)

a rosary
from sister
a scandal sheet
of cold news
in a khaki pocket

an exile
like every poet
but you still taste
the snow kisses
from Paris
on visionary nights.


©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on March 1, 2012, in B.Z. Niditch, POETRY and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. As promised, the second of B.Z.’s poems about poets. Evocative of place, don’t you think, and he manages to capture the romance.

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