IN LANGUAGE IT'S FOR WHOM THE BASKETBALL TOLLS

My skull is frosted coma
I'm in a limousine
with four med students in drag (gardeners)
smart men now parading
like a naked ensemble
of swans
oh, for swans
I would rock the mold

I stand
askance
out on the court making turns
some into hell
some into animosity
out there in
language it's
for whom the basketball tolls

I see river runt
iris traffic and log light
okay great I forbade you to
bland storm mark modern
spill roar and you
forsake what you see for the new
lung trample
Gatorade Dad and Raisa
tan at four stores
as blotto faltering

Altar sin
ate debt
air all indelible
at the language vat it's
for whom the basketball tolls

To poem

Back to Dusty Dew Page

Back to Don Books Page