Monday, March 08, 2010

when tools for reading become tools for writing...


as if
milk really came
from the farm.

as if
there were a stop sign
at the top
of the hill,

where the coat
was wet
and its colors ran

"jump like a little fire,
onto the black colored

a spark
came down
the hill,
to rest upon
the trunk
of this tree.
burning a mark upon the area
which would eventually
be chopped down
to make a door.

a saw then cut, while a hen did cluck
on the top of a big fence
as if
to give the tree
one last wish
to remain a tree,
in spite of things.


i move
from soon
to where
the nest
holds a girl
at rest,
cold from wind
that's fast.

at three
in the morn
those leaves
rustle for ear
and eye,
and i thank them
for they are old,
unable to fly
as they did when the wind
would call
and they would see
who would fall
and land
on their feet -
upon his hair
or both his shoulders -
as dust is most likely
to do,
while we too
have the need
to rest.


i have not a car,
but a bed -
and all but she
in a box, instead
as you come
to me
like a fish
looking for lost eggs.

you said
they were those small ones,
that are usually red
and i stood there
upon one leg -
a man at play
who wants to go,
yet is


i can get a pig
to eat corn,
in fact
some for him
and some for me.

it's good to share here
near the dog
and the boy -
as we
can all bear each other
and we
are toys that run,
and move
only for the sun -
which drops light upon
the cap
of the mountain.

then he, the pig,
tires of the light
wishing only
to be done
with it.

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Blogger Leora Lutz said...

i've read these twice and they are quite lovely and interesting.
are these poems you wrote using the pages or are they published examples from the book the pages come from?

did you use math to select the word sequences? i'm still trying to figure it all out, even though enjoying the result is paramount.

12:26 PM  

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