Monday, April 18, 2011

Meditation on Plastic

as if I could press myself into a piece of wax
as if it could retain us
we retain it

we make mention of detritus
we accumulate its bits

on top of everything: pianos
falling down, ruined

the place where her lips were
there were lip prints

a synthetic rope made into knots
unweaving itself -- unthreaded

six thousand petroleum snakes
just six thousand of millions

there are too many to count
I count myself among the ruined

I, ruiner --
to say it makes the shapes tremble

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is this real?