Tuesday, November 15, 2011


A Rose in the Slat

Depression makes my skin ache.   It’s
nine o’clock and I dip into a jacked-up
bar in the gulch, half a chin tucked into
my sweater.

It’s a grizzly-bear nation.   These dunder-
heads threw in a kidney stone; two hour
flashbacks to a party of eight.   Once home,
I read a love poem to the sofa.

It swoons.   Lots of people chopped off his
thumb.   David left while growing striped
pants.   The penguins are in the mail to
Kevin (flash-forward required).

The glass of water infected with ice.
European stains on the carpet.