It is simple note that refuses
To open a sadness that died

Wednesday with zero future
And past of my sadness size

I , who had not a year more
Than his old sadness in size.

While a simple note refuses
To open the end of a street

Where a cop in yellow dress
Says it’s late it’s late it’s late

Since ,where a sadness dies
A folk tale gets in collection

All mixed up in sea maidens
And eggs that nail the truth

Of what came first , sadness
Or poet at the end of street .

(remembering poet Denis Johnson who died this Wednesday)