You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

ashes of Truth

And yet we think that those rocks pave unto us: savage annihilation
the fire copulates and roses resurrect in ash
wreath of tissues dipped in morphine...
dust of blue, i stamp, more blue into air

like God singing through his white ribbons
that ties the pulsating gift
mad spring now wounds her own land
to bury more songs, more boneless leaves

What else but to wink like a clown
and freeze the molested into snow
black lizards and red bats
in the countered kitchen of thin piano

The way one allows memories to seep
one allows not the nectar to trickle but lick
the art of wiping all that is white within
strikes as if prayers stung by bee

like every day is fashioned fresh: stretches the unstretchable
black berry is someday a jackfruit
and kitten another day an wolf
gallops like whims of unfathered child

catastrophe is an original built.

1 comment:

a few from caledonia said...

visualization along wid abstraction.. !!!