43



I keep waking up in this burlap sack.

I'm on the edge of the Hudson River.

There are rocks in the bag with me.

I'm naked, so I hop back to my place.

My wife is upstairs, working with the ropes,

which she says she needs for an art project.

The other day, I found these two buckets,

with my feet in them.  I was on the couch,

and the rug was vacuumed, and if I traipsed

around in wet cement, I'd have to clean up.

So I waited, tested with my finger—

and when the cement set, firm but tacky,

I dragged to the tub and turned on the tap. 



forthchoming in KGB Lit

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