Rob Schackne #2 - Two Poets in China, 744 AD

Two Poets in China, 744 AD


How did all these voices get into me?
The moon has two faces, one of them useless
A poet who looked like a servant, a butcher
A street sweeper, a sweetheart, a burglar
A poet to be a horse's ass, two poets to be us
A glass of wine, wrinkled clothes, the smiles
How do you ever know what someone knows
Waving at the children, this parade of river
Skipping along the old crossing, the leap year
And one of them was a wrong one, a murderer
And one was alright (he looked mentally defective)
They were dear to me, I travelled with them both.