His map was newly framed, he
was a puzzle full of means
from the pulmonary deep.
Home, or so he said. Thought I heard
a sudden sacrament from
the first note of my name, but no:
the clapping moon faced you,
just a screen door and instinct.
What's the weather like in Nashville?
The breeze a false glow
in the brain of your knees.
Then it gets me. The knot recurs
as its molecules part. Then is it less.
Outside, the landfill blooms
and I mistake it for my mind.
1 comment:
i just wrote a long comment and blogger wouldnt post it ..now its gone..
sigh
anyway, i like it, "clapping moon" and "puzzle full of means" sounds familiar, have you done this poem/those images in some other form before??
this is more narrative than im mused to from you, but its good, it has nice movement and as always, striking images, unique images that reverb in my ponies long after i wake up,
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