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Thirteen Ways House Looks at the World

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Among twenty fledgling med students,
The only moving thing
Was Cuddy's... mouth.

I was of three minds,
Like a differential
In which there are three in altercation.

Thick eyebrows lifted above eyes of brown.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

A man and his symptoms
Are one.
A man and his symptoms and the deceptions that obfuscate them
Are one.

I do not know which to prefer,
The power of inflections
Or the power of innuendoes,
The moment of my whistling
Or just after.

Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of my companion
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

O gullible patients of Clinic,
Why do you imagine grand illnesses?
Do you not see how the sniffliest of children
Linger around the feet
Of the parents about you?

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That my begetter is involved
In what I know.

When Stacy flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

At the sight of fellows
Striding in an orange light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

He rode over New Jersey
On a so-called deathtrap.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his Honda
For a hell-bent flatfoot.

Her mouth is moving.
The patient must be lying.

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
House sat
Behind a wall of slow-moving glass.