Tuesday, August 16, 2016

a horse with greenblue eyes

what you see is what you see:
madhouses are rarely
on display.

that we still walk about and
scratch ourselves and light

is more the miracle

than bathing beauties
than roses and the moth.

to sit in a small room
and drink a can of beer
and roll a cigarette
while listening to Brahms
on a small red radio

is to have come back
from a dozen wars

listening to the sound
of the refrigerator

as bathing beauties rot

and the oranges and apples
roll away.


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