Lex Kosieradzki

No no no
No no
And a thousand times
No it is not
The burned grove
Of incense cedar down there
In the valley as far
As the eye can see and
It is not
The crashed and burned and
Totally damaged beyond
Recognition Prius there marked
By cones in the ditch
And no
It is not the sentence
“He’s actually a preeminent figure
In the NFT art scene.”
It is
Not the sameness of
The jeans so
Crisp and dark and paired
With a sweater or a
Light jacket wrapping
Thin and graceful body
In the park
And no it is not
The calm and happy tone
With which the number 2,300
Was described as a
“Human” amount of money
To pay in rent.
And no no no
It is not the large drip coffee
In a bowl
Without a handle
To be sipped
With two hands like
Miso soup
And no it is not the sign bolted
To the post below the one prohibiting
Turns both
Left and U
Which said
“Do you really like driving this much?”
And no it is not the sun
And no it is not the sky and
No it is not the sea ever
Closer every year
Or the
(Yet another)
Beautiful day—so many
In a row. No
It is not the ocean of
Pastries and breads
Plumply shining from the windows
Of a thousand independent bakeries
Patisseries and
Boulangeries all delicious
And all identical and no, is not the rule
That all dogs can be unleashed and run
Up to whoever they please
Whenever they please it and how dare
Anyone disapprove
Here in the land of the free thinkers.

About the Author

Lex Kosieradzki lives in St. Louis, MO. He plays the saxophone, writes, and runs an art gallery in his house. He likes jazz music, eating, running, and the Mississippi River.