by Tina Posner
Je me souviens
-Quebec license plates
Iâ€™ve been coloring my teeth for God,
whose presence is confirmed by
the tunnel graffiti: â€œSome things
I allay, and some things I destroy.â€
Itâ€™s those dream-logic moves
that cause imaginary ancestors
to cluck tongues and disapprove.
They say: â€œSuzanne, all your questions
turn to sand.â€ But thatâ€™s not my name.
And the sirens are constant now,
like an astringent seeping into
An opened wound.
has passed its expiration pointâ€”time
to cast the moldy dish out of that sad
refrigerator heart. Some say the wish
inside self-mutilation is surprisingly
healthyâ€”an ad homonym attack on
on French chaos with English cows.
But cleverness wonâ€™t take you very far.
From here I go alone to bump along
the supplicant trail where trampled
dust rains back down tacit blessings
from the patron saint of amputees.
0 thoughts on “Amputee City”
deep!i’m gonna have to think about it for a while…… what did you drink before you went to sleep – absinthe?