Fred Wah Neck Hold cement to the source dances over the top of the forms looking for the chemistry, clouds covert at the spring creek pipe a little rusty within the back eddy all possibility lake a Newfoundland of roots cellar one log cellar two rock cellar three concrete cellar four ties walls get up plumb the clear track through to the peppermint tea this pour has the hum of a plane overhead dreamt a good mix five or six to two not always back to the body and its neck la cort de zone maybe not just the cable of thought would hold as one a bird Next |
The East Village Poetry Web |