| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3713 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention La Petit Mort Emusing (Lois P. Jones) Sometimes I touch you like a blind man stealing your lives, crossing sunless passages-- one hand covers the stench as I edge my way along rue de la Mortellerie I reach down to sweep the fetid air, like some bankrupt angel in search of you and there you are again, lying reckless, sprawled brown like October, beneath an olive tree; we shift with the sun rise in an empire that claims what has always been ours. Sometimes you touch me your hands cover my emptiness with a brief song; a memory of a city the last life that measured you against the man you have become Let me hear you cry. I’ll tell the sun to kiss the dead fields of Hispania and bring back your fragrant life, planted deep along the river banks I see the jackdaw circling, I believe he remembers your name |
