It's Sunday, and the president has finished his milk.
"Let out more line!" he hollers. A screen door bangs.
It is another day, and the president has three shoes.
He thinks the closet is like his mother, hiding in plain sight.
The president feeds on charred animals, chewing their little ears.
It's Tuesday twice in a row in the unemployment line.
"I'm the president," says the president.
"I'll break every mirror in the garsh darn place."
It is a time of trials, and the president is selling soap.
Lie soap. Carefully he washes out his mouth.
"War is our only road to peace," says the president
to his necktie and gloves. The wind smells of oily birds.
"Murderers should be excruciated," he tells his dog,
Spot, "so we can sleep safely on our boats."
It is Thursday again, and the president completes his favorite
Norman Rockwell puzzle on national television.
"See what can be done if we work together," says the president,
who evaporates below the waist and discusses the beauty of stumps.
"This is a great day, eh Spot?" "yes," says Spot.
"We all love you for that."
~Christopher Howell
By the light of the silvery moon
-
*Moon, worn thin to the width of a quill, In the dawn clouds flying, How
good to go, light into light, and still Giving light, dying. Sara Teasdale*
You ...
3 years ago
1 Comment:
Love it,cool find.
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