ok, here's the exercise. go to one of your own poems, one that you like but think has more work to do. choose a few lines or a stanza and let them start a new poem. go!
I know that I am home when my body is tired, and there is that familiar fatigue of the
sinew, or muscle-love like Ga-Ga says,
probably in a dream, that is where all the important things happen or my plants died, I thought instantly of you, and of mourning but it was not you that I was mourning but a self less exposed to something I wish I had not seen.
This is just something about life, that we all see one point upon a map blooms into another story just like that.
Does this have to do with mothers? How they treated us, well or badly, looked at us only sometimes, or if we were only lucky enough to see a smile in the rear view window, and she was just smiling at herself
Or was she a powerful goddess, which makes us the children of a mystical force, forever aware of being children children-children and children to our dying days
but perhaps this is not your story and I weave you in too easily a slow slip of the tongue— I’ve been mistaken before
it’s just that there’s something about you, I find it so enticing like the reflection of a tree or the sky in water—not me but something I love
I Know That I Am Home
ReplyDeleteI know that I am home when my body is tired,
and there is that familiar fatigue of the
sinew, or muscle-love
like Ga-Ga says,
probably in a dream, that is where
all the important things
happen
or my plants died, I thought instantly of you, and of mourning
but it was not you
that I was mourning
but a self less exposed to something
I wish I had not seen.
This is just something about life, that we all
see
one point upon a map blooms into another story
just
like
that.
Does this have to do with mothers? How they treated us, well or badly, looked at us only sometimes, or if we were only lucky enough
to see a smile
in the rear view window,
and she was just smiling
at herself
Or was she a powerful goddess, which makes us the children of a mystical force, forever aware of being children
children-children
and children to our dying days
but perhaps this is not your story and I weave you in too easily
a slow slip of the tongue—
I’ve been mistaken
before
it’s just that there’s something about you, I find it so enticing
like the reflection of a tree
or the sky in water—not me
but something I love
pointing upward
aren’t we all?
far from any
ReplyDeleteocean
mind imagines
only
concrete
abstractions do not
hold these
restive limbs this
beating core this
coiled
mind
un-
wind
walls planes curves connect
almost seamless
smooth
absorb sun's ninety-three
million mile distant
poured rock
heat
inhale
exhale friction
radiates
wheels spin
gravity
feet push humming
speed
hands shoulders hips
whip body up
across
aloft concrete smooth
below
blood pulse momentum
glow
thigh muscle acid
burn
toes tense knees
sustain this
curve this
line this
turn this
infini-
tesimal
momen-
tary
release