Sunday, January 19, 2003

There Must Be A Word For That

Thursday night's blogentry seemed to cue the subconscious: I must have realized that how I chose to envision a phrase, as blog-starter or poem kernel, was a choice to be made at the moment of inception. Or something like that. Anyway, I wrote a poem, the first in almost six months, and I'd like to share it with you.

Impotent, I Control The Moon
Or The Teacher Drives Home Alone After A Late Night Grading Essays

I wish I were a hundred things
But this. Sure, I can spin
The meta, the postmodern gaze;

But that I have sown of myself
A hundred hundred selves
By spending my capital unawares,
Deep in the lump that is belly
I covet their lives like sand dollars.

Impotent, I control the moon
Driving it left behind the trees
With a turn of the wheel,
Dribbling it like a basketball
On the hills above the bridge

Until, burning off the clouds,
Pulling away from the earth,
Fire fading, it purifies the sky.

Please let me know what you think. Or not. And there's always more at Watermelon Pickle Poems.

posted by boyhowdy | 7:40 PM |

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