Plain American Language

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

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Concentration Camp (I dont know why it's called this, it just came to overpresiding feeling?)

Like a stifled sneeze, I feel uninhabited
at times--waking from dreams
in which I have been blinded by chemicals
and pitted against stranger-adversaries,
and while a faceless bloodied, ravenous
onslaught powers toward me
a sudden wave rushes through my body
pushing it all back--waking dizzy--
waking later than I wanted to--
slugging my hands through the day--
a miracle is tea and lemon, a miracle
is ginger and quiet noises of fires
and the shifting plaid and flannel
of autumn, to walk and see reddened
oaks, then to fall away from the world
at night. And in this am I ever awake?

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