Astonished
by this fine formed angel
with pure eyes,
I trace each petal with my fingertips
charting a map for my lips
which move from the gentle sea shell,
to explore the line of her shoulders
down
into the other regions below
Blog
Silence Cricket
Silence Cricket!
I hear her humid mumbled cry.
Here.
Silence Bird!
She recites an ancient poem.
Silence Black River!
I cannot hear,
trembling, bare footed on damp grass.
I savor the words,
touching upon her lips as they exit her mouth.
I couldn’t fly.
Court
a line
that hovered on one wall,
went to the end
and then came back around
on the other wise.
three hours of thinking
of how if only I had not
followed those other two cars.
but
as I watch
the people in the court.
not the ones with the traffic tickets
but the ones who had to do this everyday.
I thought of a book.
something about always
having a towel.
the Vogon,
and so long and thanks for all the fish.
I felt sorry for those people.
there was a focus on repetitiveness.
it was a nightmare for me
just being there for a few hours.
think of them
for days,
moths,
years.
[to be thought about more later on]
The Cricket Song
new york city
Smyon-Pa 