they come down with a bad case of po­etry

Prairie Fire - - TABLE OF CONTENTS - DEN­NIS COOLEY

i can­not scan nor ken

what lines your mind

grown so faint it could have been

scratched by birds on sand­stone

or drawn with a stick in the heart

no won­der she said you can­not fathom

the sky hum­ming with mol­e­cules

the as­pi­ra­tions of chlo­ro­form

the ham­mer­ing of spi­ders

the whole cre­ation’s be­come

noth­ing but left­overs

from a ca­st­iron pan

as for me (mean­ing me, poet or her,

self, muse) what is to

be­come of the light

mark­ings on the skin

the lit­tle pile of mem­o­ries

moraines you say left from the ice-age

mi­graines in the mind of god

our thoughts small peb­bles

in a pass­ing glacier

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