closed doors

by Damon Hubbs

after Frank & Sylvia & Sean & Ted &

We hardly ever see the bees anymore

or the villagers in their blue coats

or the snowman on the moor.

Of the shepherd we know nothing

nor the milkman, nor the rector.

I’m blank paged

by the hot stink of the fox, 

the cracks and reforms and bursts

in the violet air

                        O stop stammering—

Pass me the Kleenex

Let’s take a bath in tapioca

Watch Four Adventures of Reinette and Mirabelle

I want a Budweiser. You want some pears. I want the natural

     history of form

and an excuse to wear a corduroy jacket

or say Krebs cycle

in a poem that’s more mysterious than an Irish cab driver.

Everything else

is afterlife

and the shh! of the swarm.

Click here to read Damon’s bio!