Thursday, May 22, 2014

Poem: Sink

Originally published, courageously, by Full of Crow.

Fly Well In the Dark,




flies over the sink.
he had more patience for them now,
didn’t care to note
the swerves of their Doppler whines.

some might accuse him
of lax affect.
or anhedonia.

but it was mystical, if only by default.
a new kind of (lack of) etiquette.
a brand new take on death.

it had never made sense,
the wholesomeness of enamel.
could be a killer’s shine:

thinking of knives and forks
as bones.

the crud
glued to misstacked plates
had been bitten once:
a chomp on the flank of a pig.
a gobble of turkey.
dentures probing the chest of a cow.

it didn’t matter much how you interpreted it.
but then again
not all of the objectified beast
would go down.


No comments:

Post a Comment