Thursday, January 2, 2014

I LIKE A FRESH GREY SKY


Ignore the theme
clean the family car
feed the Christmas cactus coffee
a thousand angry fists flopping
against the brain walls
be like Kieran, with the tiny type
take sleep only as it comes
break free from wobble columns
but also, quit instruction on principle
my best friend’s mother
poised and feminine
a hearty dog-walker
her crowfeet inquire
my mother braves the grey-wet
in a nothing nightgown
anything for compost

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