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This is an excerpt from

Pockets And Ventricles

by Shane Plante

 

1.

Half a letter off. Whirring propellers, one-handed cartwheels. Throwing ice into the tree. Put your toesies to the limestone. A streetcar named Tennessee. Making a voice to the sun. More than a thimble’s worth. Pretense is noxious to me. Like a woman sitting on a baby’s knee. Paste for parsing, spackle for blanking. Clichés warp in the heart. That old time perdition.

 

7.

Treat the windpipe like a chimney. When in doubt: drop a city and a prayer. Like casting panties before swine. I’m no prig without a fig. Count the streaks on a tulip. She wobbles and she bounces. I’m preaching the word of Bob. There is no ‘else.’ Life consists of presuppositions. Breathe to fade.

 

  10.

To raise eyebrows: open your song in medias sexist. Wield that apostrophe like a weapon. Never give ‘them’ what they expect. The ditch, a different sidewalk. Absence makes the heart. Beauty parlour chicanery. An olé but a goodé. Let the form express the discontent.

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Pockets And Ventricles excerpt ©2004 Shane Plante

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