Identity
My brain gropes nervous
Tentacles in the night,
Sends out
Fears hairy as bears,
Demands lamps; or waiting
I refuse to look in a mirror.
Whether the wilderness is
Real or not
Depends on who lives there.
posted by Pilgrim at 3:01 am
Preoccupations
Sometimes, confessing, I incise The skin over my breast – bone, press the bone – saw’s Intolerable teeth through The knotting of sternum and ribs, Excavate the narrow valley floor Even deeper, open the vein of gold That branches up from my mother lode, Unearth my molten heart for you, and Your dark, delicate, intrusive mining
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
My brain gropes nervous
Tentacles in the night,
Sends out
Fears hairy as bears,
Demands lamps; or waiting
I refuse to look in a mirror.
Whether the wilderness is
Real or not
Depends on who lives there.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home