More in Seriously Good Poems, Beloved by Stephan
Cotton
He calls it fiction
the fabric of experience
I've been unravelling
skein by skein.
Weft and warp
unwoven deftly
and separated into threads
as if they were sense.
All the texture
and pattern frayed
won't change cotton
into wool he can pull
over his eyes.
The flimsy threads
are what they are
the fabric of experience
I've been unravelling
skein by skein.
Weft and warp
unwoven deftly
and separated into threads
as if they were sense.
All the texture
and pattern frayed
won't change cotton
into wool he can pull
over his eyes.
The flimsy threads
are what they are
- mine.
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