Monday, January 24, 2011

Wintergreen, ~ rob mclennan

if what we were,
life-sized; an urge to toss my drink,

a wave of subdivided chatter,

         not so much
         as viewable,

should clarify; snow stuck to my ribcage,
a pleated wool condition,

sickness, breaks; a wheeze,
thin strip of cellophane,

        encyclopedic pose
        of enzymes,

grim evolutions; what fails,
a second lick of sugar,

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