To make the sound of pity, he rakes his hair
with a pine branch; he freezes
ice cubes.
To evoke spite, he smashes two patches of corduroy together
in a wood
far away
without a soul in sight.
To simulate folly, he rustles a boa of tape yanked
from a cassette around his shoulders; he gives up
smoking.
So what about silence, he asks, waggling a rubber hammer.
For fear, he mounts two live flies onto a photo of the ocean.
He is writing a manual in which nearness
wields a long pair of scissors.
To bring to mind love, he smiles
till it hurts; he can’t stop
laughing.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
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3 comments:
To hear the coffee, he swirls his spoon round and round and round..
This is quite spectacular. I got sucked into this poem, whirled around and then spat out at the end, dripping in beauty.
I love your blog. Forgive this pathetic stalker, but I found it while aimlessly wandering Blogspot, and am now an avid reader.
You inspire me. :)
Thanks anonymous.
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