Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

watched a man throttled near to death, heard

     his attempt 

to retch, to reach a scream, the flail of vocal folds

     failing

to find sufficient breath. Having felt the ‘jolt’

     which sends

me back to where that stoned nut-job

     cackles,

his laptop hooked to an amp: the near dead

     gurgle-gasp

of a man in surround-sound, just-off beheaded.

     Having

traversed the boulevard, the chinoises hookers;

     walked

past this kid, gaunt, hunched below the portico,

     dealing

smack or base, I come to my shanty studio

     to involvere

this little étude of you – that Egon Schiele pose –

     inadequate

to him,  forever inadequate to you.