shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Glenn Pape

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Submerged in dishwater, my hands disappear.
In the constant rush of noise, my words disappear.
I sit at my desk for hours until my legs vanish.
My son walks away and my arms disappear.

I'm lighter than helium.
The front door opens and I waft outside.
How can I possibly have any effect
when I'm spread so thin? But I do:

I move the leaves when I push through them,
rustle in a woman's skirt, make an old man turn his head
and remember something silky and wonderful
when I whisper in his ear.