This never happens.

[t_isfor_]

I read a poem in the New Yorker and a line actually struck me.
I know.
Weird.

So here it is.

" . . .
I go to the men's room and look in the mirror,
look in his aggrieved and music-haunted eyes.
The mouth opens, but there are no words;
there are words, but the mouth will not open.
. . ."

Comments

[annevp]

Not a bad poem, really.
Didn't really like the other 3.