Plain American Language

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

Thursday, October 21, 2010

This glass is alone underneath
my table, my checkerboard where
once or many times I played with
my great-uncle that never was old
until he died. Whether it is heat
or something else that forms it,
an immensely chip-able object,
had I strength and a towel
I would think, later, to break it
as if the hand were street and glass an echo,
clink of song bringing itself back
hard bits and pieces, immense sleepless sound.

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