Archive for November 18, 1994

And How

Posted: November 18, 1994 in Poetry
Tags: ,

And how
does the world bludgeon me daily.
Sanctuary with my door locked
and my heater blaring.
The smell of burnt dust clings
to my jackets on the coat rack.
I hear my exteriority shatter
with the tumble of the deadbolt.
Ignoring the intrusion of phone bill, electric bill,
auto insurance bill, CD club bill —
Williams I’d rather not be acquainted with.
The ceiling fan is strobing for my tired eyes
Into a mechanical African daisy.