Born a couch, I'll take a finger for every
time you lit a candle. Quit. Beery,
I grip the circus sides, feed bears
fear. Badness, badness. The world board turns
for us: we don't, we dip. Really nice. Alone in his room
with Mr. Fox. I have never seen it. Grinning white,
flapping orange. Your greeting
graffitied on missiles. And hit my button.
Mountains furl, a frozen limn, too marred
for me. Hand gap is a multiply, where you can't weep.
So I see you. You're awake.
5 comments:
To me, the revolution in this poem occurs all in the middle. The voice often changes midline and jumps from line to line, creating a circular sensation when reading it. I love the imagery, its hilariously contradicting and as alienating as ever. I don't know how to critique it, as I think it is an excellent poem. Sorry for being so unhelpful, but its all I can offer for the moment.
this poem makes me want to hit your button, even harder than usual....sorry im drunk
AT 6:25 AM?!?!?
oh...there's something wrong with someone's computer clock...
yes at 6:25...Mother..
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