I'm Not Imagining You Naked
You can't go to town in a bathtub,
But oh yes you can, and this car
Is the greatest thing since the erector
Set. Say no more, the quiet streets
Cast a pall over midwives pasting
Cauls on newborns to give their sideline
Work in fortune-telling some needed
Authenticity. And in this city, when
You hang fruit from the elm branches
In the pebbled air preceding dawn,
you'll breathe the chorus of the spiders:
a little sea-chanty, a little sideways
chant. You might as well lie down
right then, dream of bathtubs, dream
of tin lizzies and pony cars rolling
down the dream highways, passing
checkered flags and deserts, passing
fruit trees with the reflexiveness
of memory, trailing the definitive scent
of motor oil, of repetitively written desire.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
