I, Gorgon

quaff a poetion: forgetfulness. Lifelong jargon slithers
from the experiment of my mind. Polyclot argot
corrodes terminal logic. I think hard like force-meat, hash
in the can, can of worms, overstuffed, I close. I never do
seem to mind crush-blind severance. Sushi. Catatonic
bris. Though in some way archetypal, I miss my hair
or whatever used to fill these blinking holes—my head
currently an all-out draughty info sieve. I replace
my crocheted cap, strain to wonder why my brain
dries hard. I press ad nauseum the vain garlic of ideas.
Whatever I expected—swords, mirrors, pigs with wings—
from this sea-licked pile of rocks, and also
why no one stops by, I wish I knew to remember.

Copyright © 2004 Abby Millager All rights reserved
from Terminus
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission