exposing through a bottomless foxhole the kitchen carpet carpet glue linoleum linoleum adhesive ply wood sub floor boards above the cellar ceiling cellar floor geo pitch and plates he'd somehow augered through and stood there on his hind legs, drawing on his gloves: chrome and citron -- I didn't know him. He held a ferule. It was blue for music. He was virgulate himself, leaning toward me: a rust-red slash between worlds. Copyright © Margaret Aho. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE SILENCES IN THAILAND by KAREN SWENSON A HYMN WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ALEXANDER POPE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 83 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE YOUNG CARPENTER by AL-RUSAFI PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 87. AL-GHANI by EDWIN ARNOLD |