A thousand noons hatch
at horizon where the
gate sings
I peel my selves
for you to
listen
winds bringing hours
black
You I knew
in a million colors, world
stacks of
nacreous factories
A razor
stubble chin where
constellations crouch
Tiny machines ply
the after-
noon sky, useless as
caves.
1 comment:
Dear Larry, I just learned of the death of Laurence Weisberg on his memorial site on milk. I knew Larry, as he was then affectionatly known, when he was 19 years old and I was 21. We worked together at the Los Angeles Free Press Bookstore. He was a huge influence on my life: even then he was a formidable poet, an extraordinary human being, a mystical soul.
Over the years I have made many seaqrches for news of him on the internet. It was with shock and sorrow that whe I finally found him it was to learn of his passing.
Please, can you tell me something about his life?
thank you, laura farabough
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