Hey, world. Give me a line. I will write a poem from or for it. It's just that easy!
In the meantime, here's Applies to Oranges XXXIV, as written during Louis Warsh's reading on Sunday. If second generation New York school poets are good for anything, it's inspiration.
Rules are rules. You lose if you mention
nuclear war. Things never end that way.
Instead, in a foreign city, white with tile,
An ad for oranges puts you in mind
Of an island rifled with spiders, of the ship
That took you away. The anchorman shines
The Zenith from the inside out- plaid
Sleeves wiping glass. He's alone
in the studio, but must let the world know:
Coordinates are programmed. The troops
Are on their way. God bless us all.
End transmission. Behind the red screen
of your eyelids, a host of ghostly oranges
Rises up and the horizon lines give way.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
