I’m tickled to be featured on The Sirgmets Sisters’ Un Fashion Blog
The kind of animal
who comes in from the woods
to a town with only two
telephones and presses
the mass of his enormous body
against the glass face
of the telephone exchange,
where someone working
late, or expecting
a call, might see it
on hind legs
fill the window
like a shortness of breath,
brief interruption of fur
from scars running
across its chest—
then retreat into the enormous
night. It is this kind
of animal I once spoke
to, unarmed, approaching
a rock ledge where the stone
parted and was filled
by air—then the air
parted, and what remained
there was only the fearful
which we both smelled
on the wind.
Miriam Bird Greenberg
from The Paris American
I think I will learn some beautiful language, useless for commercial
Purposes, work hard at that.
I think I will learn the Latin name of every song-bird, not only in
America but wherever they sing.
(Shun meditation, though; invite the controversial:
Is the world flat? Do bats eat cats?) By digging hard I might deflect
that river, my mind, that uncontrollable thing,
Turgid and yellow, strong to overflow its banks in spring, carrying
A bed of pebbles now, through which there trickles one clear
narrow stream, following a course henceforth nefast—
Dig, dig; and if I come to ledges, blast.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I used to work construction.
I had a hole in my head the size
of an ankh. My gut was a body bag,
full of tanks. Inside every tank, a prize.
No one owns the Loa. I bought a prayer
and a wing, twenty American dollar.
The child’s toy poses a choking hazard.
The child, too. Life’s a natural disaster.
I capture smoke within my coffin
and offer it to Dr. Strange.
They say that light’s the only constant
but I spend all day watching it change.
I wish people changed half as often.
The white goat is a fertility god.
The black giraffe is a wishbone
in the snow globe of the scorpion. And me?
I’m your host, Jack Kevorkian.
Fortunio Liceti’s Monsters (1665)
Bob Dylan’s video for “Like A Rolling Stone” And it’s interactive.
The one you accidentally found in the mirror
in its dark corner to be exact
was there alone thinking of you
befriending your solitude
The one, because you are in need of company no more,
you called out of his darkness and fed
with your hands
You used to call him and he’d come
point to him and he’d jump to his feet
and as soon as you’d turn your back he’d unload on you
his hyena stare before returning to his corner
Now you recall all this
since you must pass a long time here
staring at the mirror
at its dark corner to be exact
as he sits in your chair
feeds you with his own hands
and passes you some water
calls to you
and you come
translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah
from Poetry Daily