in its homemade wooden frame
today a snow hut
a dust cloth
stockings
benevolent always
deprivation a broth fast
with a side of gruel
my loss is your loss no fuss
just make some shapes
with my bones
a mobile scrimshaw
wingednothings
metatarsel meringue
cigar boxes in sing-sing
crunching shorn corn
frozen ice clots
ice-dirt fingerlings
the worms the worms
who sprawl mid-crawl in muddles
clog sidewalks you have to squish
one already so low. You have to ask:
Is it the Lexapro?