Monday, September 26, 2011

poem || Jeff Harrison

the literary mist / posthumous rain letter

reborn Socratic mist
contradictory, enigmatical rain letter
ethical rhapsodist, do you deny
this could be one of my old-timey poems?
these lines, rose-leaf fog, seem
to come from some dark leaf of the sun
instead of from within my breast
here the underworld bares itself to my
poor judgment, two by two

even for a last chance to get in
out of the rain, the shrewdest pair
will not side with me, they've
left me, all, on this divide
it's not worth the bother,
the enthusiastic favor?
the burned child fears the stove?
goading them doesn't work either,
they've suddenly gone all noble

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