White

By | 1 January 1998

(Lattimore’s Iliad 1.1 )

A ream of cheap paper, I said to her,
you could sell me a ream of cheap paper.
The selfsame brand as pallets I have fed
into loud photocopying machines
when deforesting my way to the rent.
Pale as a promising relationship,
a film to be underwritten, that job;
the white manuscript takes off a blue dress,
curls back before the touch, offers up lips,
“Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son…”

This entry was posted in 02: UNTHEMED and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.