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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=577010" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Light From Their Wounds</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=577010" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Chatreuse caterpillar upon the brown stem<br>Of Janie's nose—<br>Ever wondering if she'll ever grow up—<br>And what is the thing that she was made to be: <br>A stewardess upon a quest for the <br>Service industry—learning to leap from <br>Like stony wishes from bed to bed—<br>As sweet as chicken, hypnotized from <br>Paris to Shanghai—<br>As I lay in my classroom listening to the tornado <br>Drill, <br>Waiting for the beautiful girls to come in<br>And to promise such sweet things to me—<br>A zoetrope of heeling wounds—<br>The foxes laughing around the, <br>Drinking the light from their wounds.</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=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>

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