r james sterzinger Poems

Only the purity of the falling
Snow, will mark your going.
Not the petals of roses. True
Roses are not in season.
...

that fall when
Richard took a gun
and blew out his poet brain
...

they
those two
they hate the paper
the books
...

three days before my first reading
I am out in the rain
the air: cool deep thick
I feel like
...

the snows in Buffalo
are as white
and as pure
as you seemed
...

on our wedding night
I buried myself into
your arms
you buried yourself
...

your smile brings the dark
that I peer into
I think this
watching you
...

On Mondays
I sleep late
always... well, not always
not today, not this one
...

driving
on thirty-sixth avenue
half-way between
the hospital
...

Quando sono solo
e mancan le parole
tu mia luna, tu sei qui con me'
...