It Feels Like
she's gonna be
my last
great love;
just like
she was
20 years
ago
yeah,
that time
same kinda thing
this one's
almost
the same
age as
that one was
back then
that's right,
just a
poor kid
but
this time
I'm not 20
but 40
years older,
give or take
a minute or
a thousand
million
say
galaxies, or
on some rainy
afternoon,
brushstrokes
by Picasso
this time,
that time,
in fact
both times,
she's a
ginger
what a
surprise
she might as
well be an
elf
either
from the
shtetl or
on a
spaceship;
its always
back to
earth
same thing
that time
as
this time,
in fact
all the damn
time
hard landing,
soft touch
same
impossibility,
same
perfection,
same tiresome
haunts,
same glorious
kiss
another
rainy morning,
her red hair
wet, her
cold white
hands
Not Even Malpractice
Bio: The poetry of Jay Passer first appeared in Caliban magazine in 1988, alongside the work of William S. Burroughs, Maxine Hong Kingston and Wanda Coleman. He is the author of 14 collections of poetry and prose and has been included in print and online publications worldwide. A lifetime plebeian, Passer has labored as dishwasher, barista, soda jerk, pizza cook, housepainter, courier, warehouseman, bookseller and mortician's apprentice. Originally a native of San Francisco, Passer currently resides in Los Angeles, California. His latest collection of poems, Son of Alcatraz, released in February of 2024 by Alien Buddha Press, is available on Amazon.
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