When it got too heavy
the canopy fell down:
the cats pawed at confetti—
Rain fell with it, and San Franciscan
bands of fog to emend our lists:
errata, one, and corrigenda.
I inhabit these too deeply:
thin disguises, broken glasses,
water bottles, table textures,
hoarse falsettos, soft tortillas,
shrewd predictions, cauliflower,
mandarin waffle irons,
gray amazing paper scrapers,
lasers with an eye for fashion
cascading rather like an onion,
ears for fears, A Love Supreme,
my alter ego in a dream
(where I was played by Johnny Cochrane).
I wrote a poem when I was twenty one
in which the moon in horror shone.
No comments:
Post a Comment