Friday, December 06, 2013

poem and painting

Sleight of Hand

The mouse. The improbable hole
breathing in the shape of the body.
At the lip of every tunnel an urge to escape
registers. The baseboard fills and empties
like a slippery memory.

Outside a woman thrashes a broom against
what she can’t understand. Her mind is going dark—
but if a camel can pass through a needle’s eye
shouldn’t the brain believe almost anything?

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