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      July 3, 2021FallingLeonard Gontarek

      The poem’s father is a drunk.
      The poem’s mother becomes cold-hearted.
      The poem reads as translation.
      It begins the first
      of many affairs.
      Snow is falling
      off the roof.
      The crows are beautiful,
      serrate the dark,
      which is beautiful,
      with their flight,
      just after dusk.
      I’m empty,
      too, you know,
      I’m nothing
      but a whore
      of dusk.

      from Issue #15 - Summer 2001

      Leonard Gontarek

      “‘If we are willing to make fools of ourselves, God will be willing to make us wise.’ So says the Dalai Lama. My poetry is driven by these words, when the models of Duchamp, Merwin, E.M. Coiran are not enough. I work in a music store in Philadelphia, where I am bringing up my five-year-old son on Wyclef Jean and Wallace Stevens.”

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