Monday, December 20, 2010

Guidance Counselor

Weather is just math so you can add it up
and see where you are in the year. A group
of people called real people. The manger is
on fire. Gangly orange light. Memory of heat waves
rising from the sand in summer. Pink and cherry glowing
pale blue by evening, milkier by noon the next
day. What color is remembering? Oh you precious
poets drawn to nothing where nothing is.
The slope of winter just tilted, go rub some
butter on your toast and do something
American. Heart thumping in blue chest,
wake up in memory of panic. The pliers
go mushy in my hand, I can't fix anything.


Anonymous Anonymous said...


1:52 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh you sad precious poets, perfect.

6:39 PM  
Anonymous Leah said...

This one is great, Todd. The last line owns it.

12:15 AM  

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