I bastardized an historical fiction today. I adulterated the ism, the -isy, the science of retelling. Yeah, I added invented dialogue to assumed events. Events I was convinced of, Events that are unlikely, Events that have been censored. But I couldn’t resist – the book was so dull, and the evidence is so scarce, and…
Tag: poems
Rising Star
Cold, Cold night No one to say Hi !! So I look at the sky Clouds passing by Cold, Cold night I look up high Calling my Name A Star in the sky Lonely, Not alone but, I am fine, Said I Stars shining Bright I see them in the sky Sitting on a tree…
Still Loving
The quiet eye underestimates our ankles, soft against each other; idles in the under- ground tavern I sweep in my mind, deep into corners and back caressing the wall. I see mid-tones and heavy jaws of the dark; a few words sifted, careless. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen you, fly into a…
Curtain
You might trace the eye-sockets of enemies settled in the folds; curious samples of feet – the duck or elephant tramping off the hem of the cliff. I loathe a modern home set to cream on cream; a sterile soap pinching corners; eyes have no place to comb. I like these…
Sunday Float
Hungry for this seal at the ears, I roll in the pool. It’s long since I shut you out, tipped my face to the sky and swooned. I hear the dry spheres of my breath. Only, under me: the avalanche aisles sweep; and the graze of the whale, less ethereal in the…
I am sorry
I am sorry I don’t want to stand still I want to begin to crawl And walk, run and jump But the sinking sand stops me Me and all of my stars high in the heavens. I am sorry My heart is weak and I am weak without a heart My lungs fill…
Me; Orator
Tell me, stranger – your eye amplifies me – Are my words away though, as I hear them? blown out damp as the night air. It’s owned in my brain; tight until I speak and ooze. An ear of mine cranes, in exile – a dog. It can not near the master’s voice…
Still-life
Will stay but not fight embarrassment in the lewd sun. Bring down infamous rain; the fingernail and the boot. I will sit here. Tender. But a still-life is a dead thing. I saw one sit and never breathe again. I paint corpses, apples and such, and the red ones…