C.E. Putnam

Decks our only opponent

One day, when I was four
I dreamt a thing
that today I still remember.

        I had become buxom eighteen
        concentric circles of working
        on their own.

                All angles met at that single point next to the ladder
                —the lines went from me to the floor and under.

            The dog face—screen door
            dusted

                        then pulled out of pajama feet
                        inside the moon

                    The "doctors" were wearing long soul-winning
                    self-generating uniforms—both of them with the same
                    smiley face on the pocket. Yellow triangular pills.

            Nico says downers are back.

        The tiger began to pursue me and my chicken breast.

     We started to run but behind each tree there was a very hungry man
     —piles of antler and forest bones found within the city limits.

            Feeder operators pay to drag your body behind them.

                    George Washington lived in a state
                    of almost constant rage.


            Something touched my shoulder, I turned my head
            and I saw the worst thing I could see at that moment.

                                            STEVE!

Copyright © 2003 C.E. Putnam

Return to the poet's main page