Sunday, December 13, 2009

Epic





















his shortest poems
his fullest
in the sense
they could not contain
one syllable more

1 comment:

  1. Look—it has fallen through10:49 PM

    Nothing so dogged as the silent air
    will come. Will come through tears
    a running figure, stuck shadow on the bricks
    The city’s dark and tastes of smoke, fireworks

    may be gunshots and which ricochet
    like sirens like neon grinning thru the rain
    off wet road and bricks, finish too.
    A running figure, still shadow on the roof

    dogged against headlight squalls & wind
    vanished at dawn. Will come in hours
    When dark the streets are cold and taste of junk, takeouts.
    breathe suddenly between us the fissuring spoke

    Nothing as dogged as the silent air
    rush quiet is permanent vanishes too.

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