SAD LITTLE BREATHING MACHINE
Under its glass lid, the square
of cheese is like any other element
of the imagination--cough in the tugboat,
muff summering somewhere in mothballs.
Have a humbug. The world is slow
to dissolve & leave us. Is it your
hermeneut's helmet not letting me
filter through? The submarine sinks
with a purpose: Scientist Inside
Engineering A Shell. & meanwhile
I am not well. Don't know how to go on
Oprah without ya. On t.v, a documentary
about bees--yet another box in a box.
The present is in there somewhere.
From Verse, Volume 18, Numbers 2 & 3 (2001). All rights reserved. For more information about this issue, see Arielle Greenberg's poem below.