Even worse. I found pieces
Of the moon under my pillow.
In my city you could be arrested
For breaking the moon.
There are few of us left.
I draw wings on the old walls.
I will never tell them.
I write about pieces of the
Moon on paper with lead.
Memorize 864,000. It is
The diameter of the sun
In miles. Even worse.
The pieces are gone. Rumor
Has it I never found them.
That I don’t even know what
Wings are.
I’ll never tell them.
Silent like a falsetto
In a parking lot of album covers.
And if this poem had a sharpie
Spell up the trestles
With the forgotten the names of every flower
How they haw and look at the sky
And, like me, never tell what they see.
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This poem is fantastic. I love the imagery and the ethos behind it.
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Thanks. I’m trying some new approaches. Seeing what works. For good or bad. Though this one I mostly like. I’m a hard critic on myself.
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Yeah, I understand. I am my toughest critic, too. But experimenting with new styles/techniques can also be fun. I hope you’re enjoying the process. I think your new poetry is great.
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Thanks!
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Gorgeous poem. It reminds me of a line from Delillo’s Underworld, where his character is on a rooftop terrace in NY (I think, but my memory sucks) and he says “the snapdragons smell buttery in the sun.” That one always stuck with me.
Sometimes I do find myself wishing just a little bit that I understood more of what you are trying to say, but of course that’s just a good excuse to keep re-reading. And I worship your constructions, the music in your lines, the juxtapositions that are never jarring. Your meaning may be elusive, but you aren’t hard to follow, if that makes sense.
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Thanks Andy. Really, it means a lot hearing that from you. As far as what I’m attempting to write, I never really set that down on paper. But that might be an interesting to try. I’m just glad you take the time to read my poems. It’s nice to have readers. Thanks again.
It’s funny you brought up Underworld, I just picked up a copy at a used book store. It’s on my winter reading list.
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