An infancy provisionally set
With high voltage rays, the sensation of sailing
A river that never moved. Those days
Were badly tied together,
Fell apart like tiles, and now,
When women thunder through cafes
Made of daubed mud, electric wires
Clutched fiercely between their teeth,
I can answer only with a peculiar
Gesture of loss -- flexing and dipping
My hand as though it held something
With a sure trajectory, an orange,
Perhaps, a stone.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
