Sunday, December 12, 2010

St. Thomas of Holland

the smokestacks of this town

look so beautiful when I think of them

as your legs, long and lean.

you tap the edge of the sky

with your big toe.

even with all this coal dust

smeared across the bridge

of my nose, I felt beautiful.

all the frames shook themselves

off of the wall as the train passed.

I imagined the tracks, all hot

and smooth. The cat cried out,

hid under the bed.

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