for Billy Collins
half a haiku
I wake from my nap screaming. In the dream, my half-naked poem is nailed to the cross, surrounded by a cheering crowd. A critic begins beating it with a hose, trying to torture a confession of its meaning from it. My poem cries out in anguish.
the only thing moving
my right hand
A Hundred Gourds 2:2 March 2013
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