Eeksy-Peeksy

augury doggerel

Friday, August 08, 2003

Reading Room

In this chair I can't see the women but feel the air from the door behind me. A tattooed arm shakes my hand � his hand is soft and slimy, maybe soapy, but maybe he washes. I'm trying to read printed poems typed by a professional; he's bright and they must be good or why would they pay him to teach how to write poems? Some of them seem like my blog entries. But there are no women. In this chair I can't see the women but feel the air from the door behind me. There are children on the step, might be boys or girls but for pinking and bluing. But tell me about men, like the warm waft of sweat I've just inhaled from this man to my right. He huffs my lungs with a smell you go home to. You'd like his moustache and unsilly face. He rides horses, early gray and early smile. But there are no women.

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