After Buying a New Pen,
 I Recall The Old Chinese Poets

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The loneliness of raindrops in a dirty puddle

Skipped over on the way to buy cigarettes at Super America.

Those old Chinese poets that always see the world

Doubled in some sort of parallel reflection.

They never need a Marlboro bad as heroin

A drug introverts take these days breathing

Its dragon smoke deep into their shy lungs

And later, after a few months, the needle

More solid than air slamming it into the blood

Mixing with their very soul—their heart

Their brain, a needle tracing veins back

To the source. Becoming two things

The drug and the heart. The drug

And the brain. The drug against reflection

Of any puddle. The prick in flesh like a match

Lighted illuminating desire. I think, I’m glad

I never started smoking—I mean—because

I know I could never stop. The raindrops

In a puddle – it must be said because I looked—

Reflect, a light pole, a Buick, the curb, my shoes.

The only way to look is down. The old

Chinese poets know that puddles aren’t

Reflecting anything that could possibly be

Mistaken for an answer. That’s it

Just smoke curling like bus exhaust,

On seventh street, in early November.

-Larry Gavin

when i was a lad in college i had a great friend

his name was larry gavin and he was the only

person i had ever met up until that time

who i regarded as a poet

now i see him once or twice a year

he has sent me soem of his work

and i always appreciate it

i harvested this little gem

from a website called

PEMMICAN 2010

and i am honored to have this poem here

as i am to have larry gavin as my friend


















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