Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Poetry Wednesday


Your blackbeard washed        away
down the drain and sunken ship
        to the surface with bubbles

you thought

we could both be in the water
pooling below

cooling our corners

for eight fine minutes
and the riptide of summer
our beginning

                         the draining.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

from Shake by Joshua Backman

That’s the worst way. The thin tree. The
brick and its acceptance of light. The brick
and its continued darkness. Now, in the
wind, there’s no way to explain. The room.
It is comfortable. A quiet towel sits in the
windowsill. The hallway. Let me explain.
It’s the worst way. The hallway. Outside,
the light gives itself to the brick and the brick
accepts the light. The wind told me this.
I’m okay. A small towel flaps in the window.
The hallway. Yesterday, I’d say two days.
There is no way to explain. The brick’s
acceptance of light and the light giving itself to
the brick. The wind. There is no way to explain.

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