How is everything a poem? how is everything not a poem – the glands, globules, each terrifying nick of skin is a poem how is it not a poem the drift of my knowhow the feel of my soontouch is a poem how is it not a poem I dust off my knife
edge it is still a poem I rub my
eyes to a dull glare
it is still a poem how is it how
can
it not
be a poem? – ( i )
…
Take the henna of the morning rose and blush it with the trickle of an uncouth dawn, an easy forgetting; take the line of the horror &
make
its wily wound its keeper:
the salt
of wonder made
soothe – ( ii )