Plain American Language

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

Saturday, March 22, 2008

At the Acupuncturist (i think this poem's silly...if only for the cop-out ending, any suggestions?)

Sliding down into that phase
where the two heat lamps
sunning your arms-like-live-pin-cushions

in which all seems a bit dreamy --
be it the heat or not
you've nothing to do with your time

but sleep. The grandest object:
the window: an arch, pillar sentinels,
long glass plates, rose-tipped

at the actual arch. Darkness.
Awake again, heat's off.
were there ghost's cackling recently?
The arch pointing downward, smiles.

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