Sunday, March 8, 2009

A LITTLE SONG


Clean air participated in me 
The night I screamed into a crowd of furniture-enthusiasts

Their sympathies divided
I snuck into a sack and watched them unfold
From the back of the house

I've never slept
In a cozier fridge
And yet I was never more aware 
Of being sick

I made up a little
Song to pass the time
And I sang the song
And flapped my arms

Until snow began to sink
Through the roof of my hat
And my presence of mind became
Essence of foam