Cottage Industry
My long career
in explaining
my career,
my way
of proceeding,
my careen.
*
Single car garage door
wreathed in puckered husks
of bougainvillea flowers.
Poem.
Empty street
above which
the invisible planes
roar.
Oh little!
Flux
1
Come on poets,
word it
till it’s yours
or no one’s
the way the clock
on my nightstand,
long hand
bonking the numbers
feverishly,
is no one’s
2
Sing Muse
of who’s what
in this deluge.
The flux of dreaming
carries language with it.
A narrator
must stand aside
and mimic.
Where is he
when the whole worm
burns
from mouth to anus?
What is he
when the worm
refuses?
Photograph © Rookuzz, 2011
