2 October 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 3

She Makes Me a Little Sculpture

A scrawny hippo, a tar-caked disc

hopping around out back.

A rogue flipped on his back,

eerie pastels shooting out of him

to drench the smart crowds

of smoke-addled rooms. The scales

of rogue fishes akimbo

in dog light. The way she tucks one knee

into the other knee,

where love's a crushed bird

in desert clothes. Gloam

munching the cool, heady gloom.

This is the swish-swish of a monk

breathing the sepulchral ferns.

Of a strip of time about to unsheathe

its stick into the ashtray

being cleansed of straw wrappers

and asbestos peninsulas. A spy

en route, twilight easing through

the fuzzy meadows of televisions

and tea parlors, owls slashing

silently the ends of light.

About the author:

James Grinwis's work is forthcoming or just out in Conjunctions, Colorado Review, Quarterly West, and others. He lives in Amherst, MA.

For further reading:

Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 5, No. 3, where "She Makes Me a Little Sculpture" ran on October 2, 2005. List other work with these same labels: poetry.

42opus is an online magazine of the literary arts.

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