Something sinister is creeping just behind your eyes,
that can never be extracted with the sharpness of words.
Poetry scaffolds the crumbling facade.
Bowling alley bumpers-
Poetry plastic straw to suck the soup of the mind.
Once there is a voice for verse and flair - tricks and little flips of speech, the
mind gets busy building
toy-block towers.
So after I read Jack's poem about the cleverness of breezes,
my Mind got to work recalling his sallow cheeks,
his shallow eyes moments before
the final drop of air tumbled over the chap of his lips in an egoless croak.
I could see it.
The sunken ribs, distended, the belly,
the final swells,
the chest.
I feel the uncharacteristic
stubble scratch as I cradle him indefinitely and I think,
"He writhes for release from the ills of embodiment, but rest,
Arrives when you're least" -
And just then
As if to smooth it all over,
my mind presented me with the image of Marvin Martian leaping from a child's bedsheet billowing out of a Bronx tenement window-
-JV
No comments:
Post a Comment