Page One


By Abigail Goldman
Wednesday December 30, 2009 - 08:59:00 AM

Waft and wait. . . 


Waft, and wait. 


Float and flagellate. 


(A balloon makes a break for innate—  

For the vanishing point of space.) 


Carry in colors a community of. . . 

Well, I speak for me. 


My soul shuffles itself free, 

Does the watusi, 


And cracks the layers of the firmament 

One by one by one. 


I am the object,  

twin-sister of it, 


The its are thick-coming. 



There is a tool that is receptive. 

This is what a sense is. 


Sits in stillness. Feeds on experience. 


Eats all the fruit— 


Stem and seed, 

Bruise and worm, 

Mold and germ 


Loves the cockroaches,  

Bloodsuckers and vermin.