Sunday, January 25, 2009
for Sina Queyras
I have a tooth, a tooth far back in my mouth, that is Hitler’s gun. It is a mirror. I can lick the moon without looking, take a bath in Hitler’s bath.
A breath in the cold air from the mirror’s barrel: a small tree or the pert antlers of grandmother, lost in forest.
I have a tooth, a tooth far back in my mouth, that is Hitler’s.
A mark on my thigh where the mirror waits. A curl of smoke from the lung, a shroud of the mouth.
Sina Queyras over at Lemon Hound posted a short prose piece and then, in the following post discussed its sources. Both the original piece and the subsequent discussion inspired my short text posted above.
Posted by gary barwin at 3:20 PM