| . | |||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||
| 01/01/2000 Frank Lima |
We found the words in a box and gave them indescribable Attention. We studied their habits and became recklessly Enamored with them. As we watched, they smoked And blew sacramental rings in our faces. We were Blind old men, unzipping our lives and trembling at the Touch of naked marble. Pigeons were the wild fingers of Statues. The future sacrificed our soul for the erotic Stillness of poetry. The words arrived in the kitchen Through the nail hole of the last century wearing the Faces of the past. I fit myself into anyone that will have me, So be gentle to me in your memories and they will Stop looking over my shoulder in the subway. I’ll collect The tickets at the door, wipe the dust off the seats And make it perfectly clear that writing is as lonely As a pile of shoes. Heaven is wingless and far away, And there are no books that mention your name or mine. |
| Home ~ About Us ~ Membership ~ Bookstore ~ Gallery Info ~ Archives ~ Workshops ~ Links ~ Niedecker |
Copyright © 2003-2011, Woodland Pattern Book Center. All rights reserved. |