Presenting Greg Santos

How the Poet Laureate Spends His Days



All I do these drawn-out days

is sit in my kitchen at Pheasant Ridge



In my upholstered chair by a window

with dusk pouring into my room,

I appeared to be doing nothing



I sat in an armchair in the living room

and turned the pages without a clue



when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch

where I closed my eyes



Instead of choosing one thing over another,

I would do nothing



I decided as I lay down on the carpet



I had nothing to do



is it my job simply to sit as still

as the glass of water on the night table



then I walked out into the blackened woods

and sat on a rock



And who cares if it takes me all day

to write a poem



I was never the smartest monkey on the block



A cento made from poems from Ballistics by Billy Collins





What, Me Worry?



today i empathized with the top of a tower



i’ve been looking at the screen for a long time



you are a goldfish and i am alienated



do not let me alienate you because i am small and afraid



just



a crumpled ball of paper



some inconceivable crisis thing



a calm, melodramatic, silent apocalypse

from brandon scott gorrell





To Whom It May Concern,



I went to the grocery store today.



I made the man at the grocery store nervous.



My mom called me.



No one cares about poetry.



Probably going to die alone.



I want to write a poem with you.

from Ellen Kennedy



greg santos blogs here