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9/28/10

UPDATE: The Hard Way

A poem I posted a few weeks ago is now available in Catapult, along with a companion (prose) piece, "Heavy Artillery." The rest of the issue is also read-worthy (as usual).

Let me know what you think.

9/21/10

Earth Song

O circulating cell,
wrapped with dust,

all rests upon a root,
life rushing beneath.

I press two feet to you,
soles in osmosis,

and my mouth shapes a seed.

If I rest against the trunk,
a gradual spine,

the bend of shade reaches
down, your hands over my eyes.

Then I see our horizon, swaddled
in skin and bloodstreams,

turning into turning.

*

[This is an old one that has, for some reason, stuck with me for some years. How do you weigh your own attachment to a poem against the more objective sense of its "worth" or "quality"? Writing for myself for so many years gets complicated when I imagine a public audience, even if only an unread blog.]

9/15/10

What Can You Do With It?

A poem can pop
like a turned-on vacuum.

It can wag a finger
like any old adult.

But most often it sits,
a slim shadow on its page.

Its fox-eyes follow fingers
to stalk, turn, scavenge, bite—

or just play along.

9/1/10

Nocturne in Computer Glow

Monitor, speak
of the world

in its breadth
and largess.

Repeat the codes,
the jpegs of old,

those pathways departing
from tongue

into broadcast
beyond broadcast.

The pixel mind
turns corners

in the dark
soirée of the soul,

and I who abide
in flesh, to hear

the risen tones
of blowing wind,

would unturn the keys
in their locks.