If my joy is depleted —
from wondering if I ought to be wondering,
and getting ready to wait again —
there is still a backup,
like in A&E.
Eyes, ears, dusty solar panels to collect:
The music released from a cabbage,
when split with a large kitchen knife;
Sunset light shone low through a cock’s comb,
radiating at x lumens per wattle;
And glassy, blue light,
exploded by the chaff of suspended dust particles in my room,
where the telephone won’t ring.
November 26th, 2009
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