Showing posts with label I'm sure I've written this before. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I'm sure I've written this before. Show all posts

27 April 2014

talk about it (27)

talk about it, the splendor

Never the language always the rhythm.
Always the beat, the song, the blood’s pulse,
the finger running, thrumming, toe knock knock
knocking against the seat in front, would
you stop, would you just stop. Ever
the nodding, catching the tune, sipping
the melody out of the jazz, sucking
the jazz out of the lyric, hearing
the joke in the shift in the lilt, ready
to laugh at it, ready to cry about it, hard,
heavy sobs, breath lost, sob muscles
essing the body. Never the words, or hardly
ever the words, because here come the waves,
the mountains, here the view of the bounce,
green in all directions and dun and pearl
and undulating marble mounding, squeezing
that space inside, mounting and
again then pushing it out, out, heaving,
hefting, helling, heavening. Again.

05 April 2013

Just under the 5 April wire: The really great thing is to go bananas

The really great thing is to go bananas

and get put in the attic for one of your transgressions--
a broken nail, say, or murder--and then begin the
tremendous game of pretending you're not
in the attic, even get a whole bunch of people
to strut by, make campy entrances, take sharp
exits, play like they're on the ground, play
you're also on the dirt, everyone on terra
firma, we're all test-touching it, tasting
sweet thick loamy in spring
when it's interrupted by roots
spreading worms digging life
and (hey) you like to write about it even
though you don't know that metal smell,
haven't whiffed it in years (ever?) but perched
(above) you keep on writing about it. Aw, poetry!