Wednesday, 1/16/2013

There, there, the night air.
Wednesday is gone, a workman's shadow
stroking the rooftop gutters

This color brocade on my mother's
dress, an astronaut's starry
night threatens to spill over, 

moneyless,

onto the floor. I would pull 
over too, if I could. Instead: grade
exams, assign codes, and close

                like a shuttered
house. 

        Why say gone; now should
suffice. But doesn't.


Random lines from my bookshelf:

Thinking thought to be a body wearing language as cloth-
ing or language a body of thought which is a soul or body
the clothing of a soul, she is veiled in silence. A veiled, un-
available body makes an available space.

---Harryette Mullen, "Trimmings," Recyclopedia
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