Yes I know what it’s from, and so do you,
when after some bird makes a sound outside
you speak of drowsy numbness, and I shoo
the thought away and claim the thing that cried
is day’s lark, warming up to travel far.
So carve your chicken, talk to someone else;
our words are getting friendly at the bar,
our legs are making finite parallels….
And is it strange, this cluttered way of talking?
I’ve always been a sucker for the charms
of influence, benigner form of stalking.
So many clothes you’d think us free from harms!
But layers bring a fine heat, not a numbing.
Now pass the wine and keep the good lines coming.
Copyright © Persea Books 2010
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.