A microscopic home.

this is a literary blog. i'm literate so i must have something to say. hopefully.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

new poems of yesterday


I grope for the lingering way around shore,
in ignorance of November;
bare feet triangles fixed in the mud
and sand.

this time of year
tastes of death and
the confusion of youth.

the past subsists only
as solid formations of
sinewy muscles that stretch
between limbs.

these slips of your hands,
a battery of signals unsettled,

compulsive symbols.

by midday the sky glazes grey
and arched,

a Gaussian blur of silhouettes and
Goldenrod foliage

disposable dixie cup drinkers*

Boiled lips speak in poetical gestation,
this room is a fountain of infancy.

dirty banisters- wooden strips
stippled with black and shadows

canopy over head,
while the kitsch of 1970’s fans turn in graceful
a combination of
sloppy alcohol intake and
populated egos spread beneath

in chaotic circles where limbs
drape over limbs

* title is from wilco song: I am trying to break your heart.


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