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Friday, February 02, 2007



Like a blow to the head
We half opened our eyes and saw stars
The static fizzled out and we were left
Clean and bleary
Awash in lamplight half-light
But safe...

Up the stairs and to the left
And to the tune of the unfocused AM (stations of the dead, Lazarus radio)
I pulled on my boots,
The one lightbulb muted
Like it was filtered through a cheap nylon stocking,
Or like a buzzing hive, heavy with honey -
The room cast in shadow, in the crook of an arm
In limbo


November, no clouds
No sign of the amazing show of fractals past
(Just broken branches on the bridge and singed wire next door)
So the shoes go first
The stockings (cheap nylon, like the lamp)
The dress hangs like curtains
Opened to let the moonlight inside

a woman lounges on the horizon
our breast are mounds against the sky
our stomachs round and filled
with veins
and tongues
green lightning

(Oh yes, I've been doing some (non)spring cleaning. I very rarely write poetry, so here is a blue-moon piece.)

Well, for not writing poetry much or not or what, that's pretty beautiful. I especially love the nylon stocking and honey similes.
all that posh about you not being a writer is such...well, posh! dearlink, your writing is wonderful and I want to see so much more of it.
my favorite part is "the room cast in shadow, in the crook of an arm, in limbo"
sorry it took me so long to get around to reading this, honey child. your images are utterly beautiful. i especially like the last stanza, it is so different from the rest of the piece but it's still very connected. wonderful, wonderful. certainly share more words with us.
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