Poetry as Science
Poetry is aggregation
images and sounds and words
that pulse and settle through the day.
Air takes up
light and noise and scent
thinning it all into a pale blue
the spectrum's path of least resistance.
The poet gathers the overfull clarity of sky
and with fumbling hands
divides the colors again.
--or--
The Bleak Ordinary
The safety lights from the bridge reflected sharply up from the water in the early morning darkness,
as if determined that today was the day
the languid sun would not overcome their colors
with the bleak ordinary of daylight.
That mercenary, tired from wrestling the lower hemisphere,
would turn its back to the earth and burn out another day.
The air was so cold that I couldn't catch my breath
and walked gasping
like a landlocked tourist toeing vacation waves
or an overwrought teenager.
Push and click the door open into the office swipe the clock marks I'm here--
and the rush of the alarm shower hair ugh drink breakfast bringing lunch? car drive- speed- cop?- speed- garage walk cold air punch in slows
to the measured and exact hours of a day at work on a Friday.
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| Happy New Year, from us :) |
rkb
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