by Tom Bair
The sort of changes people court and the ones they invite immediately. I thought of it while I was blank this morning. I had gotten out of bed and I was sitting in my chair. My posture has gotten worse. I used to be active; now I’m not active. I wear sea-gull earrings as a corrective measure, for my posture I mean. They are not real sea-gulls of course. I would never. The Garbage Men of the Sea. Those are sea-gulls. My two hands and me, we loathe the garbage and love the sea. Except and but when– that garbage can is me! I am the preeminent poetic mind of our time. It really began when I was young and I noticed that when I was scared I could go home and tell myself jibberish. Magic is jibberish and jibberish is not magic, you get me.
Tags: Prose Poem, Tom Bair