I had forgotten that I had forgotten. I
had one hand in one century's big finish,
a new kind of metal, a bionic art:
it's a story my mother tells, thinking
of the wrong boy. She is old now.
And when my children yet unborn, die,
these stories will be forgotten,
like umbrellas in the coat check.
Read the rest on the online magazine Bedazzler.
1 comment:
Awesome, I love reading Skoog's works! Introduced me to many of my favorite witters, and he too is one.
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