Sunday, November 25, 2007

“Hell it is, Pop” version 1

From above, the diamond burns its look
into ever more beautiful wounds, the stitcher's thread

curing the bright act.
The river wavers because the viewer wobbles,

the head its own way to see
snakes and letters.

Shine me on over light-fingered

ladies, their gentlemen lifted by old wings
just above the turbid currents

below which blind muck-wanderers
poke clawed feet.

How many thousands of feints
and hundreds of falls,

ranged cheek by elbow, line the acres,
overlap like plots families draw,

knot by knot, among their grievances.

Cities bright as sousaphones in winter
greet dawn’s new sight

with an oomph and an oomph and
an oompah pah. Good time!

Good road not yet cracked
with green,

the earth girded by meets,
loosened with goodbyes.

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