a dime
that falls off
a dresser
and rides the trough
of your spine
into your pants
and sleeps
in the hammock
of your underwear
until it falls
(when you first
notice it, diving
down your leg)
into
your shoe.
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5 comments:
Christ, man. Quit using ... uh ... what's it called ... 2nd person? 4th person? Whatever it is, you know, when you say "YOU" instead of "I"? Like: "YOU see the moneky and YOU start to sweat buckets because YOU remember what YOUR mother told YOU about monkeys."
It's okay for everyday use, but don't just keep whackin' away at it with every poem your write.
Sheesh.
Now ... um ... say something nice to me :)
It's funny you should say that. I've tried to not write so many "I" poems lately, but now I've fallen in love with "you."
Dude, don't listen to Rebecca. If it words, it works. And here, it works.
I like this poem way mucho. Surreal-like. Makes me think of the magical-realists. I dig it.
Dude, angie is a bitch. Don't listen to her about not listening to me. She doesn't even read your poems before class. Nor mine.
Or my short stories.
In fact, she's not a great peer-writer.
In fact, I can tell you right now, she smells like hard-boiled eggs.
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