Today's poem is by Dana Curtis
There's nothing so small that there isn't something smaller
a very small cat killed an even smaller mouse
and the box issues physics,
(sell: failed cell: blood) a gaslit house:
everything unseen escapes a still warm body
because the box is open, the experiment is over.
I don't think there was any intention
put it in a plastic bag and take it to the dumpster
children cry from the depths.
(Malice: abattoir) scratching in the night
genetics will out.
(this is the stench
that comes from experiment's end)
most things are smaller/larger than me.
These flowers smell of almonds and omens
the party at experiment's end.
Infants line the buffet and
ghost mice dream of ghost cats
all those tiny organisms rushing away.
Footprints in the Brie,
cigarettes breeding in the carcass.
Walk in shame place
the box inside the box.
The small sun obscured by smaller clouds it's so lovely
inert in my hand (I think of Algernon.)(Think of light.)
as the dumpster child looks at death variety
nothing can ever be called smallest.
She dances in the summer rain
(bark of tree, bark of shin, bark of dog)
atmospheres this tear how you
pay heed to the lead lined box?
The measurement of unseen movements.
Copyright © 2017 Dana Curtis All rights reserved
from Wave Particle Duality
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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