Plain American Language

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

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Untitled (Poem #3)

Rain, continuous, drawing planets
in globules on glass, we are in
Puerto Varas, city of roses,
settled originally by Germans in the 1800s.

What's to do except listen & listen:
Wood expanding with the water
makes a crick every few seconds.

That must be what age is like.
Tomorrow we head to Bariloche
for New Year's & chocolates.

I feel like a fish or desert lizard
here in this bed, just waiting
for something to happen,
ears expanding like wet wood.

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