Doo-Wop–Dave Nash
When I began I wrote in fours
in beats in lines, stanzas
with alternating cadences
like my hip-hop gangsta heroes,
But I rhymed on the rich quiet feel
under a strand of hemlocks mid
on the mountain’s westerly ridge
and sent it for submission when I’d bent it
to fit the measure, muddling its meaning
twisted in the fantasy of plentiful solitude
slowed as I trudged through the needles
of my life that came back to pierce me
like the idiocy of those poems, without
regard for my need for souls for mates.
Now I don’t know if I’m up to it or if I ever
was but I beat on like the busker on the corner.
***
Dave Nash likes to write on gray trains to rainy Mondays. His work appears in places like South Florida Poetry Journal, Bulb Culture Collective, Jake, and The Hooghly Review. You can follow him @davenashlit1.