October 16, 2004

poem 002

Storm: ap an ation

See I, in lakes like eyes;
in tired lakes rolling cold,
in storms
a dull beauty hits; all things
spoiled without minding,
as time cleaves drab and fat
with pressure descending.
Sea mine –
my skin pressed by dead air,
holding tight what turns inside,
in blindness like death
in tired duration,
roiling in storms.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

nice poem, I like the imagery and the broken language.
"in lakes like eyes" - a cold view no?

3:43 a.m.  

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