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Poem without an image

19/5/2017

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Just now it has come
to me again: the sudden

knowledge of everything
that remains to be done
though I worked my ass off
this week, doing things, doing
things. What is my style?

is a question I have never

asked until now, in the waiting
room at my dentist’s,
when this article in O Magazine

encouraged me so cunningly
to do so. Maybe it is not
my job to surprise you, not
anymore, says the spirit.
O.K., I say. O.K. But still,
I want one more crisp
image, just one, though I know
I don’t deserve it, I want it

to appear the way money once

or twice in my life has appeared
in my line of vision on
the street: some bill, nearly
alive, green god, its skin
giving off evergreen light,
unaccounted for and then
immediately mine, no
questions asked.

- Carrie Fountain


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