Month: March 2015

Lensed

This morning was foggy;
dense, heavy
and laying
in layers.
It functioned
like a lens
and broke the rising sun
in two parts:
one
the explosive light
of the sun
and the other
the simple image
of the sun as a disc,
like one sees
during an eclipse.
It was odd.
The raging of the sun
and the simple beauty
separated
from each other.
Sometimes I can see
myself in this way:
two halves.
The unfocused chaos
of a life
in progress
and the simple visage
of the man himself
riding that chaotic wave.
I too
am raging.

Blood in the streets

I found myself
listening
to Morrison’s
An American Prayer
the other day
and I recalled
how much I once wanted
to have my work
sound as well
when read
aloud.
His poetry has been
vastly underrated,
his narrative style
misunderstood.
The cadence
is addictive,
the balance of syllables
perfect.
I will humor myself
and read
(with soft intonation)
one of my longer pieces
and pretend,
for just a minute,
that I am holding court
(and a pint)
on a dark backroom
of a bookstore,
or some venue,
while people listen
with rapt affections.
Then I break my trance
and step away
from this hollow
ego
dream.