to begin again.
(I say this to him as we kneel
and I wash his face in the river
with the sound of the falls
like hushed-up thunder.)
the millions have not searched for you;
the multitudes are mute;
the idiots have
taken me hostage
and thrown me to the lesser gods
of poetry.
but you!
free and glorious and
biological,
you deserve better things
than the unusable tears
streaming down faces of
past philosophers--
you will do better than I.
(being a body,
he understands;
so I put the cloth away
then spit into my hands
to wipe the pupil from his eye
and hold him against me
to feel him return
to mud
and river
and stone.)
I don't really know what it is with me and "body" poetry.
Again, please please comment?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Ooooh, I quite like this. Less adjectives, more of a forlorn, foreboding feel. I quite like how the bits are cut up, too. Usually I have to imagine you reading them, but this one reads really well, especially the last paragraph.
and thrown me to the lesser gods
of poetry.
I quite like, I quite like indeed. Have we mentioned that we want to see more prose from you? I'd love to see how you'd encorporate your language into it.
Post a Comment