-the citizen-

last night I wrote Neruda’s

“The citizen”.

the dream didn’t

portray me in the process of

writing it down, rather, simply implying

my ownership of it.

at one point people came to me

asking about “The citizen”— of how

I came to write such a poem.

one aggressive young man

pulled-up a chair and sat
at my table with his sharp

elbows indenting the oilcloth

and his little polished fists

with their scrubbed-red knuckles

pushing into the sides of his face

waiting to hear me speak about

“The citizen”.

this happened as we sat
inside a small beatnik-type cafe
beneath a large

wall poster of Nina Simone,—

her full face half-covered

in shadow and at the base

in bold caps the name: “NINA”.

it was as if she was being introduced
and the vision of this poster hanging

inside the small cafe
is the only element of the dream

that I can say presented a measure of truth.