There are so many ants here.
My legs are sore, have I pulled them
or not stretched enough?
I find ants in the bed: at first a strange,
jittery speck. Then I see legs.
I've killed a plenty by now, in the bed alone.
My fingers smell of garlic:
I tried to make an interesting marinara.
Thinking always brings my hand
near my nose. What a strong smell.
Opening the bathroom door,
seven, eight ants just circling,
no purpose. I don't do a thing about it.
Lately there's a strange picking
on my skin while in bed.
I hope it's my imagination.
Plain American Language
I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...
and placed it inside/my philosophy...
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
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