in the half hour story Molly read to Peter
on his birthday
didn’t have to guess what
she was thinking
couldn’t even think
through the clatter of the chatter and
the clutter of the drumbeat
sounds
just like explosions
like a catastrophe in the desert
like a liar having lunch in a morgue that’s big
as a monastery full of limbs and branches
and on every sprig lands a popinjay
and the world grows heavy and begins to fall
No comments:
Post a Comment