>Everything I set down goes with a clatter
>that goes on longer than expected, and is like
>a small dam bursting, a blister of calm.
>My nerves have taken off and are living it up
>a few feet across the room by the stereo.
>My gut sulks on a pink cushion. A bidding war
>is beginning, and you and I are getting involved.
>The lyric self lives best at its wits' end, a ghost
>straining itself through masonry. You try
>to feel the lash, the searing beams, the tear gas.
>When they catch you they come down on you
>you know how. In the library I felt faint
>then went and had a shit. This is a real
>memory, but the next one won't be. Once -
not quite the g, but good fun na'theless.
ta
Doug
Douglas Barbour
Department of English
University of Alberta
Edmonton Alberta Canada T6G 2E5
(h) [780] 436 3320 (b) [780] 492 0521
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/dbhome.htm
What's received's given out
in smaller measure. The speaker as hearer
comprehends what he can't
say, a music of what sounds him.
Wayne Clifford
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