Wednesday, February 23, 2005

A poem from my best friend, Pauls Toutonghi, who left it on my voice mail. He will soon have a novel published by Random House:

Disappear child, like a coin in the hands of another reservation magician.
Disappear mother, into a cable television memory, forty channels of commercials selling the future.
What was I thinking, sending cash by mail? $19.95 for a knife that could cut concrete and oranges into halves.
Disappear father, as you close your eyes to sleep in the drive-in theatre. What did you tell me? Movies are worthless. They're just sequels to my life.
Disappear brother, into the changing river, salmon travelling beneath the uranium mine, all but measured now by half-lives and miles between dams.
Disappear sister, like a paper cut, like a rock thrown through a window, like a 4th of July firework.

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?