Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Poem: Tinnitis


Prattleyammer yakblather fry my
cornflakes I sit behind glassine eyes and
bluepencil your soliloquies yanking up
foundlings would chop off
a finger if it made you
notice something outside yourself.

The one who speaks the
most wins a parking space in
heaven and a carbon footprint
the size of a coal plant so
leave no pause lest one
presuppose the possibility of
two-way streets I suspect
you’ve been studying circular
breathing perhaps you should
take up the didgeridoo move to
a land where people are
shaped like ears.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV

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