"Ingrid Wears Bangs"
This drop is a leaden venture
a tanker anchored between
two oceans
hugging the sullen isthmus
a sponge that sopped up glue
........and got stuck
stuck in a tunnel
in an umlaut
in a rut
here lies the shape you’ve seen in dreams
the bar of soap, the pueblo
reachable by shuttlebus
here lopes a bovine, pendulous,
grazing the brow
here is a seizure that smells of hay
a torpor, deathly
close to closing the eyes
this is the loaf of toast sliced thick
a set phrase, such as
as if I care or
........best left alone
falling finally
into context
© 2007 Sarah J. Sloat
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