The center is only fabulous:
say (or even think) lover, ring
and the iron filings in your
brain flock to the groove
that goes on and on without you.
Try abutilon, prion, quark
and the packet handed round
that no one penetrates becomes
a dressy carapace patrolling
places you fled long ago,
carrying away the things
you tried to protect from words,
(and finally did) in that little
heart-shaped box you left behind:
a fifty drachma coin, a tiny
gold and silver knife, a lock
of bright red hair, a skeleton
key, a button made of bone.
o
o
o
o
Accidental Antenna 