How to make a poem act as a body -- does the pome ask a question. Many poets believe the voice they are speaking. Not so for us, we believe nothing, and know we are nothing, but a body speaking, wasting time, waiting for time, wondering what to do next, about the next desire lover....
....... ....................
Today woman's eyes momentarily swiftly cutting [do you really think I need two adjectives?]
the hand the tale my thought's only pace [why my, isn't thought collective?]
breathing in and out in spring's almost rutting
its advent the one that presages resurrection of a fiction
great tale of return and word
mixing bread and face
that glows in ours who was it that spoke you in the night
Who was it that made the spook speak
in the good woman's eyes over city and booth
holding forth as the Lord's voice commanded
go forth and multiplicity
multiplicity
....... ....................
Today woman's eyes momentarily swiftly cutting [do you really think I need two adjectives?]
the hand the tale my thought's only pace [why my, isn't thought collective?]
breathing in and out in spring's almost rutting
its advent the one that presages resurrection of a fiction
great tale of return and word
mixing bread and face
that glows in ours who was it that spoke you in the night
Who was it that made the spook speak
in the good woman's eyes over city and booth
holding forth as the Lord's voice commanded
go forth and multiplicity
multiplicity
waves ocean speak
Paris between her eyes
a face that could change cities
wards filled with the men who threw themselves at her
gnashing hollow howls of her victors
cry of lover hand over space
Mona there clutter Orpheus mutter [call this close rhyming]
[she likes it when you move to the prose it fictionalizes more easily]
Eurydice stutters Sappho and the angelica flag o cry against loneliness
and belonging
in the city before spring when the ghost crawls she
hides her pregnant word like you have we turn with the speaking
return with the going a tape-recorder always spinning
in our heads
skulls shine quickly on the tabla the shaman's eyes
laugh as you slide down the fireman's pole half-waiting
and half-wasting for time to end
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that is why so lyric poetry as such does not really appeal to me anymore . the voice is personal and leads down the wrong path leaving the reader with the impression that there is something personal to be said.
so you say.
good, then let us go dance.
