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Testing Positive 
The universe at times is simply that
above—often a naked light bulb disturbs.
Larvae make their earth in a chest of blond-
wood drawers; winter breaks and a sweater
slips over me—a fabric thin with holes.
Above me, men's eyes have starred open,
collapsed to seism. The universe when they fell
off me became clich�, became cracked ceiling.
Why fear my rise to the water-stain peel of death?
Today I watched an old man in a barber's chair.
His universe was the woman who, mortician-like,
clipped, circled, her legs scissoring air,
her breath and comb caterpillars on his face,
and how she trimmed his eyebrows with great care. |
