a know-nothing non-something,
a song, a back-slap,
a tree without sap.
crowned with ceremony
and melancholia-
a whistle, a snap.
a marriage of two curtains,
initials-a distance-an election
a combination of letters,
matches faceless reflection
that becoming broken glass performs
a mother-father-less C-section.
a little girl.
a broken spine.
I don't give you yours
but you gave me mine.
this inner debate
will it ever diminish?
an ubiquitous start,
an infamous finish.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
I sing a soft prayer to my hands -and I wait for them to do something.
-
Exhibit A: When this was first documented, I was more flattering of him than I should of been, but it was another reminder of that star-spe...
-
Urine and Lilies for Pablo Neruda I had an early love for Walt Whitman. I did. He was not by any means a concrete idol, jutting out over the...
-
as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...
-
Jeanie for Robert Frost I added to my Litany of Misdeeds, 8 dollars in my pocket, minted. My little sister had hinted, to bathing naked bene...
-
did someone die, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thing? was someone born, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thin...
-
Do you feel like you are ripe at the right old age that you are? Remember when an hour didn't take forever? 6 hours would melt away like...
-
I do not dare be secretive in my art, in my words, I want everything I say to ooze love to all, like a pearl-less oyster onto thirsty sand. ...
-
Winged shoes in flight rarely touch the ground. I have known no one who would rely on a cloud. Cirrus is rarely serious enough. She spills i...
-
silver-tongued wings flapping bones split but connect to each other every few inches. arms opened create flight-lips purse full of gold word...
Like a beautiful little waltz!
ReplyDeletedigging the rhythm
ReplyDelete