Thissitestinks1 Oct 2003

"invokes
the infinitesimal
and for one effulgent second
these holed
and drafty walls
drop away."
I like a read with interesting wording. This was quite a poem. You remind me of some one close to me...I'll show you a sample of his work..

The July night spit and cracked in its black eye,
its black iron pot; black boots rout sand
on a beach whose shadows revolve, roll about
like fat citrus at dawn’s red skin. Fork-split;
my father died this night.
In a Texas tumbleweed—tumble,
was the cement, the man, the moon.

I do not tote his flag, carry visions across
the years as tinder
into flames.
Hell is too abundant. It pumps through tubes
and cavities in snow-banked gullies,
sweet waters of Hungarian streams.
I have taken it up. I am all mouth—

he taught me this with bony spindles, contours.
Off a mountainside, I recall. Forget, forget;
suicides, contusions, edges—
forget since you can not.
Black boots stretch and moan on the concrete,

in the black eye; I fit them tight
as a casket, right as a dead man’s
son.

We were both published in the same zine. I admire his work as I do yours. I'm sure I messed up his structure though. ;)