This poem is taken from Stand 229, 19(1) March - May 2021.
Semi-permeable
in the morning, waiting to uncross my arms
the sun starts up its motor, begins its magnet-drag across the sky
reaching tentatively for the toaster like it might bite
every flower on the planet watching, like hungry, well-trained dogs
not yet ready for breakfast but knowing
...
the sun starts up its motor, begins its magnet-drag across the sky
reaching tentatively for the toaster like it might bite
every flower on the planet watching, like hungry, well-trained dogs
not yet ready for breakfast but knowing
...
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