Sunday, January 18, 2015

Sound of One Hand


Sound of One Hand

Winter moonrise.   A thick sheet

of Plexiglass between you and it.

A teacher scribbled your report card,
He is not particularly well grounded.

You explained: failure to keep the meat hand

above the glove as a ground ball approached.

Giant cedars, blunter-than-thou novels,
bittersweet chocolate chips: nightmare hour.

Pure moon-color of bare rib-bone in x-rays:
the blot is a surgical staple in the sternum.

What slides so often between lucidity
and phantasmagoria...  the cold sweat of angels.






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