Thursday, October 07, 2004

by Jessica Manack

The bank I used turned out to be a fake. It seems
my investment in you fell through. I'm astounded
to think of all I lost, but know what richness teems
in the air, at my feet--by what richness I'm surrounded.
My toaster shares its manifesto. Even my toothbrush
has things to say, these days. They thank me for imbuing
their lives with need, my functional pals. The rush
from chatting with my soup's a hoot, fondness ensuing.

At night, I kiss my slippers, wear nightdresses
of germs. Who else is there to hold? What kindred
spirits here? The sheets! I've learned resource-
fulness. I love to hug the dust, feel the kindly caresses
of a million mites and pillow feathers. A hundred
mouths kiss me goodnight, none of them yours.

As a small child, Jessica Manack longed to be as prolific
as Anonymous, who seemed to have written a great deal
of poetry, as far as she could tell. She's been trying hard
lately, and is doing a good job of catching up. She enjoys
sonnets and clerihews, and making the age-old forms her
own by means of clever sonic sorcery. Learn more about
her kooky quotidiana at Send her mail, art, or mailart, or buy a copy of her chapbook, Heartattack City, by sending $4 to P. O. Box 10203, Pittsburgh PA 15232 USA.

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