Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Feeble Breeze and Freezing Mist



Feeble Breeze and Freezing Mist

A glass of fat-free milk
on its kitchen-table side...
like a memory room-corner curled...
and brown hound eyes whisper,
Stop slouching around the house.

In a dim room,
you bend and cut time
into crinkled aluminum strips
to frame stained-glass...
toward a homemade
saint who never was...
never will be.

All the clocks are bashed-in.
Someone will have to phone
when night fades into light.

Do not offer the hound
an alibi for your enormous
sentimentality... worthless
as a cracked crystal dish
of stale butterscotch candies.

No... instead offer a better-days
Western snap shirt, bunched
to make a small pillow.

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