April 16, 2011

napowrimo 14 or whatever it is now...busy, busy with what makes me dizzy or how I grew up to love the bomb or the bong ..I can't remember...






It's always East here, dear
(the crawl and all of how much I love Persephone
except when she leaves me)

It's funny
in directionless ornation
spent sentiment
chasing the emotional content
of memory nuanced
as if wet clay
waiting to want form,
how holding images
like Maxfield Parrish's Ecstacy
can remind me of you
before I only came
to spy the dawn
instead of greeting her
as you do
and our daughter too
stretched and reverent
and with the smile of possibility
taking what bends then rise,
pregnant as I used to be
with what the wind can carry
round past
what a shared midnight
might have found
does not last past
once along the way...

2 comments:

  1. Faves:

    before I only came
    to spy the dawn
    instead of greeting her
    as you do
    and our daughter too

    past
    what a shared midnight
    might have found

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  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

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