Thursday, August 28, 2014

Plymouth Rock

There are red plums, and
some other compelling fruits. From a window,
a hand waves. That I should agree
with you that "T.B. Sheets" is
one of the greatest songs of all
time. That a coupon insert has
untapped treasures. That someone
with too much mobility is doping.

I would let the bug man in, if he showed
the silver canister with a hose
sticking out of it. "A cool room."

Whispers in the woods, whispers
in a cave, whispers in a car.
There's nothing like the spaghetti
of forgetting. I will always forget
you, though I know nothing
of who you are now,
or what I am forgetting.

2 Comments:

Blogger VicoLetter said...

Hope to always remember to never forget this...lovely.
V

8:43 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love this poem...

4:59 PM  

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