I have seen so many lamps
and broken two as of late
Bulbs and shades.
Is my light going out?
And when I try your unaged whiskey
I am seeking the bitters
And the sour cherry that says
This is Portland.

I have seen so many lamps
I watch them swing
Chained out of my reach
One making small clockwise circles
The middle sways almost imperceptibly
And number three is still.
Stockstill

A painting of a lamp is fresh
Casting impossible shadows.
Shedding light at impossible angles.
Is my light going out?
I look everywhere to replace that broken
Shade
I have no more new ideas
Is my light going out?

I have seen so many lamps
A man I know made his own for a photograph
It came out of a woman
Her light has been immortalized
Limbs and body aglow
Where I can’t break her bulbs
Or shades
And she is made of the sun.

I have seen so many lamps.