Poem-A-Day #294 : English

English

Let's again discuss language

It is unable to explain the noise of cars on the road
the color of breath in cold

Language does not know how to talk about feelings

It muddles across the page the best it can

A sort of clawing thing a hand
reaching never quite reaching

Poem-A-Day #247 : Sartre Means Tailor

Sartre Means Tailor

The bag of a thing - it hangs like felt thickly and fort-like
          draw the chalk lines across the dark surface - crimp it in
the drawstrings will pull will shear - the cliff face of a scissor will slice

The internet sends endless photos of cats - of politics with cats
          politicians wrapped in cats - there are cats running for President
your one friend who likes dogs will have to be culled - blood let

Crimp the edges cleanly - find the matter in the matter
          discard - this pile of left overs is a heap of could have
it is the hair on the brush - the egg cracked for breakfast - blooms in November

There could be a burn along the rough edge - fingers working
          along the splitting fabrics the wools trying to resheep themselves
the sheep - for their part - care nothing of what was lost they are fine

There is no meaning here - the internet is a vast mirror in which
          we constantly ask who the fairest is and constantly find only others
a shrink-wrapped bar of chocolate tastes only if we can imagine instagrams of it

Let's not Luddite on this - crimp the edges - find the chalk lines
          eventually a jacket will appear - eventually it will fit form well enough
eventually it will be discarded for another slab of unform

Unform and unform this fine felt in lines of calcified thought
The internet has patterns for it - has plethora of them - has litte rboxes full

Poem-A-Day #127 : Ode to Rain

I attempted to to turn this not a real ode into a real ode. Sort of.

The Original :

Ode To The Figure (4/15/99)

Through the dense fog

a figure moves.

The blinded moon

watched as silently 

as it could.

Green-toed rains

creep in on mouse feet.

The clicking of H2O

forms into droplets

causes shelters to fill.

Through the dense fog

a figure stands there still.

Edit :

Ode to Rain

Through this wall-like fog a shrouded figure drifts

Bleached rags spindle in the darkness and light - The

green-toed rain creeps slantwise across the earth on silent mouse-like feet

The sound of clicking water forms into pear-

shaped droplets - Each being seeks a shelter

There is joy in damp as life flows from the figure's fingertips

Through the dense wall-like fog the figure stands vigil.