Fatigue 2, 36X48, John Brosio
Of Poem and Meaning
Think also of the things
they say and the names.
It could tell you nothing.
The pear I had for breakfast
is gone but I remember it.
Sticky chin, flesh cold.
Smooth, the echoes of sucking
against tile walls, floors.
I feel with my tongue
shreds of thin skin,
imagined to be green,
stuck in my teeth.______________
Harvey J. Baine
