Saturday, May 24, 2014

Comet Shower



Comet Shower

     ...the hundreds of headstones sighing and gleaming like bones...

      Samuel Beckett
      Echo's Bones

Oil-black night, inner ear of a week-dead deer carcass...
and everyone wants their work on display.

Neanderthal-dumb, you stare up and up-further
into something like distant black construction paper.

Flesh-rot and flesh-melt...
no matter how many escalators are invented.

If not for the young Wolfhound, you would feel alone,
no more than a scrap of wig on a bald rock.

No media-predicted flash... no pin of light
rushing godward with cosmic wind-clatter-'n-scream.


Peaches Shuttleworth
Irish Wolfhound (at 10-months-old) and Young Poet


No comments:

Post a Comment