| This Edition's Poetry |
WAKE UP
That's not an alarm clock
It is a corpse
In bed
With you
Its lips pressed to your eyelids
With a picture of you
Spindled around one green rib
Its white hair
Its blue lips
Look It is pointing
At the window There in bright sunlight
A tall man with a pair of pliers
Seems to be staring at the gold
Solid in several of your hollow teeth
by John McKernan
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