By Chris Toll
Many are stalled,
but few are frozen.
Emily sits on the edge of my bed
and says, “You can’t go on
without an image from your dreams.”
I throw my saddle
on the spider’s back.
Why is a path in antipathy?
Why is Ant in Antichrist?
Anger drives a midsize luxury sedan
and a cheetah sleeps on an adverb.
Ruth doesn’t belong in a poem
unless she’s wearing a wig
and paying cash for a train ticket.
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