Friday, May 4, 2012
damask
I want to eat through this lace like a moth,
Such a beautiful damask, my friend, but,
this awkward stuffiness is binding, and
there is an eye-hole for each pinch,
flutter, and nibble.
You ask me a question with each swig of memory
my head raised you joggle my eyes, I reorient myself,
still dizzied. you don't remember anything-
even though you were there.
Let us read the words of the already deceased,
That is to say, there would be nothing more forthcoming,
from you, from them, you would be-
soundless as a headstone.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
Poets United Contributor
No comments:
Post a Comment