Thursday, February 3, 2011

poem || Jim Leftwich

discontinuous poem #28

too much derails the mouse, but the archeology is not talking. not in may, nor yesterday, were several ground hogs and hamburgers in love at the library. the piano whispers beneath the wheels of the pick-up truck: the ocean is a thief of memories along this rotten road, like a swan. less than twice, you know i can't, why not? i can't believe i feel for this, no chocolate, you can call up my thieves and ask them for yourself. godless among my own children, the silver snowman, grace, shoes on wooden stairs. doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd. a witty saying proves nothing. in the largest palaces of apollo, near the cities of frozen milk, waiting to worship a rat, he said, i'll buy you a tongue and you can tell it to the thousands. why not apollo, waving goodbye, at twilight at the train station, for a few tender hours or until new? you could have taken as long as you liked.

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