I have to get on the highway in fifteen minutes, I'm driving to Ann Arbor to pick up my daughter for the weekend :) So today, I'm just posting another poem by Jim (my teacher at the Workshop):
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Orbit Obit
By James Galvin
From this far out in the orbit, everything
Is infinitesimal, and very clear,
Like the little trigger part of your ear
With a wisp of blond slacked behind it.
From this far out in the orbit, nothing
Is big or vague, like church, but the line in the sand
Keeps moving. From this far out in the orbit your eyes
Are quatrocento islands of towers all
Atilt, where all the women go blind from making lace,
And all the men are fishermen who mend
Their nets each sunset, and sooner or later are lost at sea.
From this far out the Hemlock Society
Writes me a letter in which they offer to help
Me kill myself for a small contribution.
The line in the sand has passed me by.
From this far out in the orbit the tip of your tongue,
The white hush of your hip, your palm proffered to be licked,
The event horizon of your lower lip,
All good places to start and end,
Since no one ever mentioned going home.
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