Thursday, March 26, 2009

292. MY ONE GOOD ARM

MY ONE GOOD ARM
(when the hobo played the oboe)
I only have now one good arm.
The other one is useless - it's still
there, mind you, but useless. It drags the
ground. Flies adrift in the wind. I cannot
control it, nor make it do a thing. Somehow
it seems a vestige of something that, maybe,
once was. If so, that was long ago. For
myself, I can't remember a thing.

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