Sunday, June 19, 2005

The Impulse Visit

I turn trickster because the past is still here,
your forgetting you've forgotten responsible
for a way of un writing history until
the sickly epiphany draws a joyful no colour
all through the invisible in the lost visible.

As trickster I ask makeshift questions
that are their own answers & so
offer no relief from the inconvenience
of that inconvenient seeing
the worn rail against.

God was Here said the red red robin
to the black black crow -
God was here & graffitti is holy.

I stand in holey boots
on the river's edge
skipping the perfect stones you sent me
so sure someone else should be throwing them.

Ripples
& the sound of nothing less startling
than the song
drowning...


http://thefleshmadeword.blogspot.com/

3 comments:

anders said...

fascinating work. would like to hear how you read it out loud.

Djuana said...

Jack - click on the link at the bottom of the poem - I read it aloud there.

xodj

21k said...

It sounds terrific -