Monday, September 8, 2008

Paging Rod McKuen?

This one sounds like it could be going for some kind of bathetic parody. Maybe it needs the title to make a difference--imagine if it were called "Abortion." "Diet." "Grief." "Lipo."

There’s a hole in my middle
that nothing can fill. A hole I notice
because it is
a hole.

Air or water or love or lettuce
might rush in. Or doughnuts.
But it will still be a hole,
because what is meant to be there
is me.

Not mouth, not postbox, not portal.
It is a true void. Me minus
part of me.

How much of me can be gone
and still leave me here?

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