Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Poetry Wednesday


you are drawing me
(no one ever draws me/
it hasn’t happened in a while)
but it’s pleasant like soda pop
fizzing all over
falling short of my fingers
but welling over in places

there is a terrible mania
in me
when I think of it, as it must be
pooling on the floor

I feel this way when someone else washes my hair
and when the doorbell rings.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

The Tree
by Alfred Kreymborg

I am four monkeys.
One hangs from a limb,
chattering at the earth;
another is cramming his belly with coconut;
the third is up in the top branches,
quizzing the sky,
and the fourth—
he's chasing another monkey.
How many monkeys are you?

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