Chopsticks

Категория: Поэзия
Only marginal chances
of finding a Great White
in my coffee
although the cigaret's tubular belly
is flotsam against my hand -
a dirty kerosene color, sleek & grey.

2
And stirring the embers of my cup,
suppose the grinds become primitive shark lore
of forgotten peoples or death sticks,
dry rot teeth, fathoms
squinting light.

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English (Оригинал)