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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Grammar</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Maxine, back from a weekend with her boyfriend,<br>smiles like a big cat and says<br>that she's a conjugated verb.<br>She's been doing the direct object<br>with a second person pronoun named Phil,<br>and when she walks into the room,<br>everybody turns:</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">some kind of light is coming from her head.<br>Even the geraniums look curious,<br>and the bees, if they were here, would buzz<br>suspiciously around her hair, looking<br>for the door in her corona.<br>We're all attracted to the perfume<br>of fermenting joy,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=531470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">we've all tried to start a fire,<br>and one day maybe it will blaze up on its own.<br>In the meantime, she is the one today among us<br>most able to bear the idea of her own beauty,<br>and when we see it, what we do is natural:<br>we take our burned hands<br>out of our pockets,<br>and clap.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Tony+Hoagland">Tony Hoagland</a></strong></div>

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