Monday, March 15, 2010

poem || Jeff Harrison

Red Bell

a storm of quotation marks
now rests in puddles, you've
lost all coyness, Wormswork,
that you must storm down...
you'll not lay devised marks?
we're confined to mouthfuls of
quotation marks which have
nothing to do with Wormswork's
warm-blooded grandeur... when
the storm struck we were long past
flinches, and certainly unprepared for
running and hiding... our mouthfuls
WERE to be distributed to a still-wearier
crowd that waits on that red bell
announcing the arrival of a storm of
quotations marks... if that crowd has
not more luck than us, then the next
crowd's crowd perhaps... even with
our forebears, village errors broke apart,
yes, yes, whenever they thought of us,
and we've learned to think ahead even more
--> the marks puddle in the trench we've dug
above the elm-tops... a comma? 'twas recess...

No comments:

Post a Comment