Plain American Language

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

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Trains (completely unfinished)

Opening wide the mouth of night
light is not an oracular ghost,
rather factual: stiff as military starch,
a lampost
trips the dark.
Morning you are woken with
clouds bombastic and purple night
a healed blister
a wisp of cold aluminum
drifting downward from the sky.
A loud breath, the throat tightens
as the whip of an opposite train goes by.

No comments: