she's beautiful and tipsy and wonderful. see...
I wonder what a skunk feels like
if you drive your hand
into their rich fur.
I'll bet they're very soft,
an alter of an animal,
slow and careful, at which to worship
when we've run out of better ideas --
ideas like itchy uniforms,
clawed, burying
those inalterable colors.
The skunk by the library doesn't share a body
with a hundred others like him.
The one I saw yesterday is the same one I see today.
When I stare, strangers stare with me.
We stare together. We walk in a half moon,
building another planet
around the skunk, like trash can lids.
visit her live journal blog for more awesome poems like the one above!
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