TE21 Serbian Moments
Directions for Use
Beautiful Reflection ( fear of routine)
The more I read, the less I know about poetry . . .
The more inept hunter of little zebras I become along the soft slopes of knees and table legs.
An empty square. Encloses no one, not even itself, a poet claims;
only our shoes, two eager boats, and beside them, two shoehorns to slip out of with ease: Salty water drips into yours and sweet water into mine from the same cloud given us long ago for safekeeping
In the realm of the well-read, the wise and adept examine the zebra’s teeth, measure the width of her thighs and assess her stock, I seek the sweep of her tail, the play of her black and white stripes . . .
The dripping endures without end
Yet everywhere it’s bone dry not a single drop.
No one around not even us
Only metal shoehorns and someone’s beautiful inverted reflection fixed against the heavily trafficked sky.
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