Prose Poem #2

Here is another prose poem, this one by Charles Simic, a Serbian-American poet
who grew up next to a slaughterhouse. His collection The World Doesn't End is
tiny and glorious. The untitled piece posted below has the great absence of context,
just this shimmy from moment to moment.

(I used a line from this untitled poem to end one of my own, which I'll post tomorrow.)