A
pillow-fight-crossword on paper,
two
across, three down, each character
is
crosshatched, sculpted, made stand
up
for itself, a face pulled
and patted,
twisted, plumped
tipsy
and crumple-drunk
as
insomnia (a lamp left on
numbingly
bright in the brain)
or it
might be impressions left
by
three couples who’ve slipped
out
for something, their pillows
keeping
their talks on hold.
1 comment:
relieved to see your addition at the Magma blog. muddled syntax as defining poetry was an alarming post.
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