My Grandmother accuses Me
of Sleeping with My Father
and I am trapped
in the car with her
not going very fast
the roads are curvy
in this neighborhood
the live oaks whip by
tenderly outside
although I can't hear
I know the woods are
filled with a hiss
the oak worms eating
at the leaves
until there is nothing
2 comments:
At 5 past Tuesday
celebral lunatics
talking of relevance
on the art boards in cyberspace
gather sound,
claiming to make the patterns of exchange
they create
into a number of truths
which frame a commitment
to concrete expression
by anchoring sense in earth bound images
within the context of modernity
I listen
transfixed
hypnotised
by the weight of voices
and
test a theory
of how
to picture
meaning
by measuring
the relative
length
of each syllable
with its syntatic sense
and
the
degree
of assonance
cossanance
and
alliterative value
when
spoke
to
life
by
a
poet’s breath
Thank you. I've never had anyone post a poem in my comments before. And a nice one, too.
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