Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Thursday, June 28, 2007


"Poetry is the death-wrestler" -- Dave Smith

With a mouthful of questions
I reach into the pocket
of my brain to find death. But
there are no answers to speak of.
The most hateful point of
death is the gray dawning
of absence, that small mouse
you hear only just: gnawing, crumbling
old, stale crackers in the back
of the cupboard. Reaching for
death isn't impossible, though it
looks almost foolish, as if you were
rummaging through a chest of clothing
and wrestling for the spaces
between clothes.

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