the rivers of it, abridged

New York City skyline at night




Gregory Crosby


It is imperative
to always be drunk
as a six-year-old
face down
on the forgiving floor
of the Glass Bottom Boat

pockets full of sand

There, there… hush
no more tears

now drown
your eyes


Ghazal (Not Guzzle)

It has no end, thirst.
It will not bend, thirst.

Pump out your own heart
if you would attend thirst.

Fill your mouth with stones
if you would befriend thirst.

Dry your widened eyes
if you would pretend thirst.

Bullets to their heads
if you would defend thirst.

Tighten those black cords
if you would amend thirst.

Stop up the world's throat
if you would transcend thirst.

Slow this to a crawl
if you would suspend thirst.

Seek the wind & sun
if you would offend thirst.

Grease these oily palms
if you would extend thirst.

Climb into the well
if you would ascend thirst.

Refined to the bone
we descend, thirst.


(Previously published in Poetry in Performance #35, City College Annual Poetry Festival, 2007)



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