from "primogenitive folly"


Such pain is beyond metaphor.  The scream
a monosyllabic wail into an
embodiment of flesh.  We are just nerves
strung across bones, violins singing a
song of the self in a contrapuntal
line inscribing the parameters of
the lives we live out.  Yet we still want more
. . .now.
Together we console, but our lives  are
ours to live alone despite  the  constant
call to return.  The struggle to escape
the razor slices and the pummeling,
to untangle the spider’s soft cocoon,
leaves us numb to agony’s cold white noise.

(from the serial poem, “primogenitive folly” August 2001-April 2003)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s