Saturday, September 19, 2009

Notes toward a poem


Some bemoaned the body,
the lack. Some said it had waxed,
become its own angles.

Some had well polished nails,
some never did know
their credit rating.

Over in the corner a woman
blowing the fluff away.

After a few rhymes she saw
the well shaped petals and still
could not name the sensation
between her eyes.

What we hold the laptop with,
the stroke, stroke.

I am still thinking of the body
the collision, the fact of flesh
a skin around my iPod, a frame
I can see you in from.

I am still thinking,
which after all
is breath.

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