3 Rough Drafts from the Archives

Poetry

I don’t know what to do with these poems; I don’t know if I will ever work on them again so they get to live here. Written in 2010.

Necropolis Streetcar

If she were alive

her name would be Aureate Lion,

Sun-Beast-Rampaging-

Down-Latitudinal-Lines.

On this Saint’s Day

she shines gold,

windows open and flaunting;

she scrawls escapist vulgarity

down the tomb cover tracks.

The masonry cracks against her

and a monument

in the shape of a griffin

topples,

wings broken.

Without hesitation she dives

into the tunnel, pounding

the bones of clergymen

as if she could cut away

the gangrene on the hind legs

of the city.

Birds

the crow settles

on the branch

of a haiku

and waits for a correct

translation.

shucked feathers

karasu

ibis

garuda

dark-eyed junco

archaeopteryx

lie tangled

in the roots.

overhead

parajos bright and

shining fly over

the barbed wire fence

against the storm cloud sky.

Colours

Red reads around from the book

of songs and wanders

beyond office walls to the

quiet riverside three counties

away. Blue and Green

can only guess at the joy

of seeing the sunrise

lulled by simple rhymes.

They roll with the stones

on the river bottom.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

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