Judge of an abnormal stone, in the heat of the piers, in the cold of the elms. Slowly the wrist turns between the laser and sweet names for apricot I too inhabit this revolving door scouring the classified columns with paintings for rent, cats given away, I knock this obtuse cult, teaching the alphabet with the same imagination that obscures the other side to me. Used by permission of Story Line Press. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PILGRIM [SONG], FR. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by JOHN BUNYAN AFTER DEATH by FRANCES ISABEL PARNELL |