[response to “Trimming Hairs”]

In This City,

assemblage of mobiles

is preferable to the hunt, though both
pursuits are fragile like slowly shaking
air. Leave it to Kevin Samuel Herbert

Maxwell–and other inter-net hawkers
promising a new kind of sport–to air
out numb animal innards with straightened
revolvers, shouting, “Sorry, this is a

Test.” That’s that city. Here, we revolve time
spending: down by the station I showed off,
I said voici une autre marguerite
and plucked the inattentive florists’ smallest

Unit; had to stop from grabbing the whole
bouquet; had to stop from showing off, though
the air’s quivers turned to undulations
and baby-soft palm to wallet leather.

[read the response:  “My old Russian Carpet”]


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