Where are you when you write these mind-churning gems? That's what they are-- gems or elements. Maybe Cobalts, maybe Titaniums. Things of earth.
Mining ores, Writing like delicate machines with finger-claws aching to scratch away and reveal what's below. Like psychoanalysis, language daseinsansanalysis (sp?).
Below the first floor of your house, as I see you writing, silky things discarded-- a romantic notion, "sometimes a great notion," sometimes a notion at a distance. These poem thoughts come to you upstairs while pouring a glass of milk, peeling beets, sucking a small bleeding cut from that peeling knife, and tending, always tending.
ReplyDeleteWhere are you when you write these
mind-churning gems? That's what they
are-- gems or elements. Maybe Cobalts,
maybe Titaniums. Things of earth.
Mining ores, Writing like delicate machines
with finger-claws aching to scratch away and
reveal what's below. Like psychoanalysis,
language daseinsansanalysis (sp?).
Below the first floor of your house, as I see
you writing, silky things discarded-- a romantic
notion, "sometimes a great notion," sometimes
a notion at a distance. These poem thoughts
come to you upstairs while pouring a glass of milk,
peeling beets, sucking a small bleeding cut from
that peeling knife, and tending, always tending.
##
p