Wandering around the streets of a lower cityscape

With a leading question of the internet perched in my mind:

Can a poet be related to the patron saint

Of pop music, recently canonized thanks to their lyrical miracles?

No time to stay still, I have to find the nearest stage and show off

The consolations of the craft, the real art,

Something tonight that can stretch a legacy into forever

Because forever will mean nothing, unless my name is attached

I have been a survivor so far, but I know that show will close,

How much longer can I go on missing out

On the sale of my lifetime? What if I am not related at all

To that touring reliquary, because my words lack a spotlight or beat?

In the corner of a nearly-empty tequilaria, I stop and spread eyes

On two paralegals spreading out tarot cards,

They take in symbols, read faces, and weave a new mythology

That will disappear tonight without recognition or record

Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.