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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3285 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Six Ways of Looking at Ice Cream Dark Wind (Derek Manuel) one? …A tune upon the blue guitar Of things exactly as they are. I have a crooked camera. It wears a crooked lens. I take my crooked photographs and trim their crooked ends. The children try their best to smile (she promised them ice cream). Meanwhile I flash my crooked flash upon a scoop of dream. two… Let be be the finale of seem. When I was little, I had a pet squirrel named George. I liked ice cream. Fridays we’d bring a quarter or two to school and buy a cone with a scoop or two. You may not realize it, but there is a duality in every creature. Like ferrets—they are playful, yet vicious. Simultaneously. With some, it is something less tangible. George was vanilla and chocolate. When you are little, you cannot conceive of death. Everything is alive, everything… until something too close to you dies. I think it is called “chocolate ribbon” now. Even then, death was something that happened only to sick little animals. I think perhaps I have been able to protect the people closest to me because I have not believed in it. And every time I see someone eating chocolate ribbon ice cream I think about George, and about how one day I heard someone ask for “chocolate squirrel,” and I never knew why it was called that, but someone very clever had named it something very funny. /three A man and a woman Are one But are chocolate and vanilla? We were vanilla. I don’t mean plain, but creamy, rich, soothing, an amalgam of lovely-delicious homogeneity. But there was a chocolate ribbon out of the reaches of my comprehension, wavering through the middle of vanilla laughter not laughed for me, too sweet, too rich for my ears. (four) I placed a jar in Tennessee and filled it full of ice cream. I placed it at the top of a tree where I thought animals (excepting maybe birds and squirrels) could not reach. Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you? It survived the night, and it was the peacefullest time but when the sun rose, it all melted away. A jar over-full A jar spilling over A jar of milk. five! I was of three minds Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds. Syrupy pecan pie A cold banana split Some jar of sticky milk I know she is lying Something given Attempting to remember love I know not anything Something that is Attempting to escape a love I know that I believe Something was lost Attempting to construct a love six. The whole of the wideness of night is for you, A self that touches all edges, and nothing can interrupt the flavor of lager and tobacco. Just for a moment, Schroedinger, let me be. Let me have my peace. Let me have my box, wherein I, poisoned, cease to live or die, cease to exist. Do not measure. One must have a mind of winter… And have been cold a long time to appreciate the processes that transfigure the most basic and fulfilling nourishment into a sticky afternoon treat. All things considered, I think it is time I emptied this jar. |
