In Another Room I Am Drinking Eggs From A Boot Poem by Frank Stanford
In Another Room I Am Drinking Eggs From A Boot
What if the moon was essence of quinine
And high heels were a time of day
When certain birds bled
The chauffeur is telling the cook
The antler would pry into ice floes
Swim with a lamp
And we'd be shivering in a ditch
Biting through a black wing
There would be boats
There would be a dream country
The great quiet humming of the soul at night
The only sound is a shovel
Clearing a place for a mailbox
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5/4/2024 4:10:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
