Monday, November 10, 2014

Monday Poem

What appears to me now
appears to be gone. It is old NY
under my arms. A closely watched
aroma of meat is thrilling on the grill.
The angry falcon is in the van
with our hero. Where there used to be
woods there is now only a map of those
woods. I ate her pudding. I had one idea
today. Typical audience members
at the advanced style screening
appear to be throwing their hats at
the door before they come in.


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