May 20, 2015

you the poem, begged a storm of limbs...

Andreas Achenbach, 'Clearing Up—Coast of Sicily', 1847.

you the poem, begged a storm of limbs

as if you knew what was coming...
none of us did...even the trees 
begged the dark skies 
for shooting stars to wish upon 
for exits to appear when 
and where we wanted them to be...

the strafed glow of human lives 
intermingling while so oblivious 
at times to each other's presence 
causes both consternation 
and surreal fascination...

I am a selfish observer in this regard...
watching the death 
of Schrödinger's cat, ad nauseam...
spending lifetimes as friends 
and enemies with myself 
as a dependent on birthright 
and place for the structure 
of me as the poem...

my flesh and blood follow...
verbs and nouns chased after 
counted tamed and unleashed 
here the poem speaks 
as if my soul knows spawn, 
flow, ebb and wane 
are what humans do awash 
in cycled sea and rain...


No comments:

Post a Comment