Wednesday, November 22, 2006

[I used to/ but now I] or [I seem to be/ but really I]

fur in the tea cup, lined
to taste the hems
of foxglove and hyacinth
-the whole veneer
reveals it cracks and fissures -

and bent to drink
like ponies, paintbrush
of sating thistles
combing our lost knots
and hollows, sized
by scissors: schisms


Jessica Smith said...


Elka said...

i love this poem.

i'm anti-fur except when it's lining teacups.

is this real?