The Dead Poet
The Dead Poet
is an Irish pub on Amsterdam and 82nd.
Almost no one goes there. Not when I do.
I’m the sad poet. Drinking my seltzer
with bitters and walking around the block
to let the heat rise. You see, I’ve been
dead all year. I’ve been coke’d up.
I’ve been wasted. I’ve been in more k holes
than some boys have been in bodies.
Not stoned. Not crucified. Not yet.
Weed was never my drug.
Paris and Miami were never my cities.
I had to come back here to The Dead Poet
and remember I’m actually alive.
This is actually me. Whether I like it or not
this is who I get to be this time around.
Gaston Bachelard about houses as ourselves, Poetics of Space can use a bar update. In other public rooms, cell phone users and small kids are bat-lost at the carnival. I could learn my compass directions from being in a bar...
🖤🖤🖤