reykjav?k

[The Wanderer]

bruised sky
torment

egg shell
clouds

sun yolk
drips

blood vessel
street

and you
lichen

me to
ice

sun set beneath the curving arc
of the earth's shoulder, like
losing ones head, the night
motions upon ever dark space
as the last kiss, of orange and red
shudder onward to whimsical chic
bones smattering ghost-like souls
skeletons on the lake water,
rivers of porcelain myth disperse
the moby flips of your stomach
frothy breath of ocean air
creeping patiently in, beside you
stepford, miss step for...
things in the half life
sea you to your chamber
maids wash in the cutting
shark knife of half moon
heartbeat
and the rebirth
of stars

 

[foray]

egg shell
clouds

sun yolk
drips

----
I'm not sure if it was intended, but this is an image of a mushroom cloud yes? I like the tactility and unpredictability of your poems, Wanderer. Still haven't digested this one.

Say, do you or anyone know of Paul (Patrick?) Muldoon's poem Sushi? I read an excerpt today and it is sheer genius.



foray

 

[The Wanderer]

never heard of him until now

as for the poem, I will only say that the horizon in Reykjavik resembles nothing else I have seen. i scribbled some lines to remember it...

 

[foray]

I don't know if I could deal with zero trees.

Ok I dunno if this is the full version, maybe it's really called "Extract..." but this is what I read today:

Extract from the poem Sushi

Is it not the height of arrogance
to propose that God's no more arcane
than the smack of oregano,
orgone,
the inner organs
of beasts and fowls, the mines of Arigna,
the poems of Louis Aragon?

Paul Muldoon.

 

[foray]

Someone was telling me that this poem plays with the consonants 'r', 'g' and 'n'
And it is about finding one's roots, so to speak, by picking up bits and pieces and getting at the core. When you read this poem, you have to find the hidden word that links it all together. So, the hidden word is 'origin', formed by the three consonants.. and this process reflects how we are to 'read' our situations and form a new core for ourselves. If that made any sense. It was difficult to explain.

edit: Where are my manners, sorry I diverted from your poem. Goodnight.

foray