Tuesday, April 14, 2009

326. THE PERILS OF PAULINE

THE PERILS OF PAULINE
I am metastasizing time : it is spilling
out of my gourd, over-running to the
floor, and pooling in huge puddles.
Memory serves to only contort.
The wisest lily, I notice now, is
the one placed over the dead.
-
Incredulous moans are
spreading from the chorus
to the loge. The lights stay
dimmed; the half-darkness
suits all things well.

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