Wednesday, December 08, 2004


I've been waking up very early in the morning, writing poems like this one, and then going back to bed to dream about leaving the apartment.

Counting Our Christmas Blessings

The way that wheat sits inside some people
like a demon in Native American popcorn
makes them so hospitalized, their pious intestines
so confounded, so angry.

Food allergies are so precious.
People keep them their whole lives.

I’ll never be allergic to food -- I’m not
so generous, but my pine needle nose
can never make it through Christmas
without sneezing. It’s such a
selfish way to make my own holiday.

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