' Confession '
by Ryan Christiano


Ghosts dance upon my tongue
Wisps of mist rise from my smoldering soul
I am a poet
Three decades shy
I confess
I confess
I should die

I live in a walk up
With hobos
Of SoHo

Why dear sir
Do you write in rhyme
Of long ago time?

I write in discordant metre
Free of verse
Rhythm, rhyme, or ruba'i

Death breathes new life into me
How deep is the sweep of time?
Before bards become certain
Of what lies beyond rustling curtains?

Dark poetry licks and caresses
My insatiable veins
I consume colors
Sip sounds of sonorous sonnets
Of piss and gin

I unmake myself in Her image

My blood is brush

My body is canvas


You are the light


You are the way

I confess

I confess

I should die

Poets provided pride of place by posterity
Often denied immortality
Stanzas stand strong against the winds of whim
I confess
I confess

Art is dead.


Ryan Christiano. ©2014. All Rights Reserved.


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