A Poem by Howie Good



He comes toward me,
jingling a paper cup.

The kind of books I write
aren’t the kind that sell.

I stand knee-deep
in the noise of spiders.
Old cuts begin to bleed.

If they won’t love me,
an angel is thinking,
they can still fear me.

An ungovernable city of chill and gloom.
Every street ends in an ellipsis. . .

Only a stranger, or madman, would stop here.
I step down off the bus.


About Howie Good

Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the 2011 poetry collection, Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to a charity, which you can read about here: https://sites.google.com/site/rhplanding/howie-good-dreaming-in-red

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