George Segal
the gas was poured
in from the bottom.
In the terrible struggle
the lights were
switched off,
No one could
see so the
strongest people
tried to climb
higher, realized
the higher they
got the more
air there
was. Or they
tried to push
their way to the
door, past the
wire, push their
way out. A
death struggle.
Which is why
the youngest
and old were
always at
the bottom
by Lyn Lifshin
October 1, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2009
(479)
-
▼
October
(43)
- Waiting
- Cleaning
- SUDDENLY GONE, THE ENVELOPE OF SLIVERS OF WHAT I H...
- LOST, LOST LIKE PHOTOGRAPHS CLUTCHED AFTER DISASTER
- in retrospect, maybe we are all Buddha’s
- there was a blanket on her eyes so I left her in t...
- Linda’s Place Again
- Poetry is my Fetus
- ABERDEEN
- TWINKIE TWINKIE TWINKIE
- THE LOST ENVELOPES OF MEMENTOS
- THE LOST JEWELS, THE LOST ENVELOPE
- it’s still a good deal
- some advice for aspiring poets
- nice guy
- dialogue of faith and highway
- crash
- Moby Dick’s
- WHEN I LOSE THE ENVELOPE OF WHAT MATTERS
- drunk at the kitchen table with my grandmother
- the bum feeder
- not all women are cunts
- a dull lady with big calves
- Quicksand of That Good Woman
- MOONRISE, HERNANDEZ, NEW MEXICO 1941
- invoice
- WHO’S NEXT
- that's entertainment
- no laughing matter
- THE IDIOT
- Education
- Shallow Dating Pool
- Con-spic-u-ous
- erotic asphyxiation
- Port In A Paper Bag
- Posturing Leprechaun On An Acid Trip
- The Landlord
- The Reprieve
- asshole
- the doors of hell have numbers on them upside down
- THE HOLOCAUST (3)
- THE HOLOCAUST (2)
- THE HOLOCAUST
-
▼
October
(43)
0 comments:
Post a Comment