Friday, February 19, 2010

poem || Jeff Harrison

Cold Earth

bury the opening, Greyhound Ichthyology
I get like Brother Eraser on propped days
zoomed-in and donkey to fugitive lips dog-stunted
-- stunted as tulip stilts? nay, paced Hope!
-- unplaced to here? how black as that above, ruinous, and
there tragic as any! the weary burn & pity & step with starved steps
& foambelts enormous in glamour, their sky-span more a brain than a
grave-mound - though babes watched slumbering hands (fingers dolorous)
- through Cold Earth's my child, with night forever out of reach

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