Dee Rimbaud © 2005 All Rights Reserved


Forty days without light.
Uncountable hours of wall
to wall. Itís not only cold
here at night. The other world
knows the turn from one
day to another. Iíve made
nothing of all the space
that balloons and crashes
inside this few cubic feet —
except a hundred visions
of myself. Nowhere now
doesnít look like nowhere.
I might be stretched
on a warm board in the sun.
I might be turning toward
my next life, a cat claiming
a window, fixed on a little
light on one end of the day
or the other. A slug inside
a summer night, waxing
the world, riddling the flowers.
Already full of the orange
primrose, now stolen and down
to almost nothing.


Chris Young
Copyright © 2005


Chris Young’s poems have appeared in Taint Magazine, The DMQ Review, Stirring, Lily, Eclectica, Samsara Quarterly, MiPo, Avatar Review, Maverick Magazine, Wind, and others. Chris lives in the U.S. in Oregon and teaches tennis.

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