((Laura Stevenson))
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Song
1.
A fraction must have composure
Parts scattered and still Just waiting for something
Like a bank to press them neat as khakis
Or strings pens digits for playing…children are
Like fractions, and slaves as we all know…
The music piece after piece to make
An album or singles hitting radio waves
Chop wood carry water….I make the poem, the poem makes me
It gets its 5 minutes or maybe 6 but
Never fifteen like they say; who are they
Anyway?
When does the book come out the book
Of poems
Maybe just may be that it has its way before
I do….2.
Next please…the coffee is getting cold
Drink up a sip and pour out the rest it’s
Not much so it doesn’t matter like
Eating veal only on very rare occasions
We is the thing missed when paths cross
The line that separates multiplicity the slant I mean
It makes me crazy like a fault line through
My head
Parts of a hole—edges that is; there must be
A thing
donuts are backwards that way calling a
Whole a hole
So a fragment meant something else
Then became a fragment
And had to have composure a note
Of a song may have a hole
was in a group in a head but first was
Song
