Posts Tagged "poem"

Filling Station

Oh, but it is dirty!
-this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!

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Father on Glass Wings

Death calls from Colorado spring. The phone
tells me you jumped: angel with dizzy stone
arms, floating on glass wings. But you don’t land.
Childhood. We’re selling watch straps, store to store,
sharing a shabby Greystone room.

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Instructions for a Tibetan Air Burial

by Felix Jung The vultures, about 50 of them altogether, ambled slowly up the hill and took to the air with evident difficulty, overfed as they are from this daily ritual. —New York Times, 7.3.99 What you see in front of you is only a body. Take your knife and begin with the feet, the toes. Oranges never cry when…

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