21 April 2016

Poem-A-Day #52 : The Sentence as a Possible Record of Carnage

The Sentence as a Possible Record of Carnage

I hold my hand to light - the sky a field of green behind the flesh
My veins and trees and some other things merge into a skin color

Someone told me that the sentence is a possible record of carnage
That a judge will pull out the desired effect like a string from a sweater

And the unraveling will be spectacular -

I am sure that the universe cares little of blood and scales
That in the end the thread will not pull so much as un-thread

A violence of evenness - of being forever separate
You there - little period at the end of this line - what's the weather like.