Doug White

grand father’s chair

am I doing something — writing assiduously,
say — yonder where I think I can (fore)see
participation, over the horizon,
which has always seemed useful,
or — stop — all manner of beings
swim around the grand father’s chair

including yrs true — lie as I
might how things do this —
thing in the winter, sea
lives of their own, resisting, flying off
so I told her to mind but she —
when when when, he wanted to

know your tools — who did
brown leaves wanting cream,
the suspense, feet that meant
flippers, the nook of embarrassment
bargain, fluid, who — whose —
cavern, do you want to flatter

yourself — at this stage all
but useless legs of steel lungs
of love lace underwear
loop a rope over that stake
lie me out and wait —
how does one want one

Doug White is a writer in rural upstate New York. Medical text by day. Running and what spirit moves by night.

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