Poems by Barwin Gary
After Binyon
... I shall not grow oldas the part of me that's leftgrows oldrage shall not weary menor the damn yearsyes, and at the sunsetin the morningand all afternoonand for much of the nightI'll remember me ...
Buffalo Twang
... lost everything but my zitherlost everything but my zithertwang it goessproing when a string breaksi've only six strings leftsproing each one went of the original thirty-twountil only six were leftonly these six were lefttwang they go and i imaginethey are buffalo colliding on the plainsix buffalo lying on their sides, unconsciousO what musicO what music the buffalo makewhen they are unconscioustwang go the buffaloand the big moon comes out of the skylike clumsy fingersand sometimes i sing as the buffalo collideyes there's the moon and i'm singingtwang those two hit head-firsttwang and one of them is hit broadsidetwang i sing in a small voice as the dusty plain rumblesget a guitar get a guitarsmall little subcompact cars will drive o'er the plainand the buffalothe buffalo will scatter like tectonic plateslater by the fire, we're surrounded by carsyes a ring of cars runs round usas we sit by the fireyou teach me to yodelwe drink cups of coffeeand the buffalowaitwhat could they be thinkingstanding 'neath the starsperhaps they're imagining the twang of impactgetting in what thoughts they can--beforethey go blankbut the buffalo have never seen methough i've often watched themlying on their wide sidesin the short grass of the plaini walk around listeninglook into their empty brown eyesO buffalo, buffalowhat joy you bringwhen you make that sound ...
Into my Pocket
... things are more like they are now than they ever were beforethe streets are safeit's only the people that make them dangerousthey're an Alcatraz around my neckbut outside of the killingswe have the lowest crime ratelook, I know that if you're killedyou've lost a very important part of your lifeI myself have never committed a crimeI have only failed to speak the lawI stand by what I have doneand sleep in a big bedknowing all the promises I intend to keepI have keptin my pocket there is a special phonewhat my grandmother always saidI say unto my pocketI did not call them to create disorderI called them to preserve disorderwithout censorshipthings get terribly confused in the public mindthey deserve to be kicked by a jackassand I am just the one to do itwhat you don't hurt can't know you ...
