Monday, November 19, 2012



Treefuls and gutterlengths.
The dark or light hem creeping

out beneath a door. The strength
of matter is constantly tested, heaping

helping after helping of gravity,
or rain, or illness onto the land,

our heads. The body as nasal cavity,
time as neti pot, water, the hand

that pours. The human condition
is permeability, Play-Doh trying,

beneath its lid, for lotus position
even as it’s squished up and drying.


  1. The end-rhyming was a bit more pronounced here than I've seen on your site recently. It served the piece perfectly, helping pull the read along.

    That Play-Doh bit was too good.

  2. Oh, my, you've depressed me. I'm feeling a bit like Play-Doh, squished up and drying, and trying for lotus position... Excellent poem.


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