black
olives and bubble bath, just south of Big Sur
I love
locomotion!
laughs the mollusk
ravenous green
alive!
on long hill of ice plant
dance, you seven
continents!
you arid faults of nomads
and walnut aromas,
pure coastal dune wherewithal
look!
there is a mother here
young and tall
and
beautiful!
on this bright, beige shore
dance, you seven continents! you arid faults of nomads and walnut aromas, pure coastal dune wherewithal -- pure poetry, a cascade of words and imagery just lying there on the page waiting for a reader to parse and enjoy. It's almost Dylanesque (Dylan Thomas, that is) except for its minimalism:
ReplyDeleteThe force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.