Today a lost school of astronomers
came back. We only think tomorrow
is called “The Finished Gem.”
Tomorrow is called … come on.
The Wheelchair Butterfly
O sleepy city of reeling wheelchairs
where a mouse can commit suicide if he can
concentrate long enough
on the history book of rodents
in this underground town
of electrical wheelchairs!
The girl who is always pregnant and bruised
like a pear
rides her many-stickered bicycle
backward up the staircase
of the abandoned trolleybarn.
Yesterday was warm. Today a butterfly froze
in midair; and was plucked like a grape
by a child who swore he could take care
of it. O confident city where
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