14 minutes later I got
Up out of bed with the
Poem in my teeth and
Spit it onto the angry paper.
I brushed my teeth.
Poems have no use in the
Teeth. Their importance is an
Elsewhere full of different.
Now my sleep’s no good, not
With a head full of poems and
Stern contradiction.
These words are train tracks. My body
Is a horrible steam engine: outdated.
The switchman’s shack is on fire.
The engineer is unfamiliar
With the wrench.
The brakeman stares at a metric
Conversion table befuddled.
Everyone has a part unknowable
To anyone else. This is my mountain
I’m sliding down.
It is unlucky to address it when
You see the water
Passing over me in the ravine.
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1 comment:
And again: such clear images with a few words. The poem in the teeth, etc.
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