a poem for today, 11 May 2012

a poem for today, 11 May 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
Every piece of trash I picked up reminded me of you.
Then I got to where I was gonna get off, and got off.
Just think of me as having a Schrodinger’s vagina.
Perhaps you're interested in how a man undresses.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Such a strange flower, suitable to any occasion.
Identity persists because of a will to meaning. 
Theory-making, like touch, can open the body.
It Britney made it through 2007, I can make it through today.

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