Issue 140, Fall 1996
The gargle of water through the pipes
The rattle of water in the ceramic tub,
and the day is washed off, but what's clean?
One shirt with a promise, a sock, off-white—
smell right with detergent, with lab-spice.
Keen the streetlights wrap around the block
don't walk don't walk don't walk.
Because the sun hobbled and fell,
because the wind blows fire until now, I will
not sit still tonight, I will not learn to live to strive.
Because the paprika sky turned to pepper, and I am clean
I have set my affairs on nothing…