Category: William Taylor Jr.

“A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey’s gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind”

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Swaying ~ William Taylor Jr

Poems as Prayers (for Alan Kaufman) ~ William Taylor Jr

Kinder Than the Day ~ William Taylor Jr

Club Web ~ Bill Ectric

The Offbeats – Mike Covey  

Beat re-print #  Decrescendo ~  A.J. Kaufmann

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Kinder Than the Day ~ William Taylor Jr

I was walking to work
and at the corner
of Turk and Hyde
I saw a woman
laid out
upon the sidewalk,
her face against the sky,

discarded by god
or someone.

Her eyes were closed,
her mouth open,
and I couldn’t see
if she was breathing.

She was just skin
and bone,
covered with
the festering lesions
of a hardcore junkie.

She could’ve been fifty
or she could’ve been twenty.

No one deemed her
worth more than
a cursory glance.

She was a fallen pigeon,
a pile of shit,
just something else
to step around.

I paused a moment
and considered
trying to wake her,
then decided
that sleep and death
were both kinder
than the day,

and like I said,
I had to get
to work.

Poems as Prayers (for Alan Kaufman) ~ William Taylor Jr

You say poems
are prayers,

and I’ve always
imagined them so.

But prayers not scraping
for favors from a bitter god

of tawdry heavens
and slaughterhouse hells,

but prayers to ourselves
and our fellow creatures
upon the earth,

prayers not asking
forgiveness but offering;

released like magic children
into the lonely city

where they drift
through streets
and alleys,

up and down the hills
with the fog

where someone may see
and understand

and maybe be a little bit saved

as they go about their way

in this church of a life,
this commune of the spirit.

Swaying ~ William Taylor Jr

You once imagined me beautiful.
In truth I was as common as a wasted day
and you were just another story
that nobody wanted to hear.
There is a kind of beauty
that is a wound we don’t
recover from,
the kind most will never see,
blind as old gods banished
and forgotten into darkness.
Our addled hearts lead us
down dubious avenues
and each choice we make
murders infinite possibilities;
see us standing on street corners
with our aborted lives still
inside us like mangled dreams
we refuse to abandon.
I stand at the window
swaying to the broken
music of the day,
looking out upon this
terrible city,
my heart full of dust
and that time I made you laugh.