Thursday, January 5, 2017

another stupid poem


there's just no telling
why they need it so light

i give up
lifting enormous stone blocks
to the sky
with only the frail color
of my eyes

the shapely figures invade
and whatever means extreme
is certainly that

and while birds cut through the air as knives
the smallest of corrections
evinces the subtlest of arcs

great boughs
heavy with shade

tiny child cicada
ignorant and brave
alone on the empty page

cloud pan
whose front is like a lobster
juggling bird-knives

Nectaroscordum siculum