Beyond the Edges

I've come to where the house of mind
is abandoned. My job is to stir the bath.
With one arm bare to the shoulder,
I keep the grime
and dregs of our bodies churning--
the language of liquid
floating us all in flux.

Dead skin drifts with curls of hair
and lint from infinite belly buttons.
Stirring, I play
some part in its softlogic patterning.

This is the only crime I claim no guilt from.

spiral galaxy
hydrogen electron density
pedestrians through a concourse

Some students of history have asked,
"Don't you get cold kneeling beside the tub?"
But, temperature is of no concern.

I've learned about "good" and "bad,"
but this isn't about
the edges of a dictionary.



by jerry gordon