| Prose To Poetry | |
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It’s like holding an orange in one hand and a small knife in the other a hundred sparklettes bringing your nostrils the memory of an orchard somewhere in the sun perfuming your fingertips for later until all the dark part is gone But not really gone because there are still lines and dots like some cryptic hexagram from an organic I Ching but you don’t have the guidebook So you keep peeling and you get to the part like hand-pressed paper creamy and thick but totally useless on its own And you might get a picture or more exactly an idea of the reason behind an image and that’s the first warning You’ve got to get delicate strip tiny pieces because you want that juice more than any thing but contained in a membrane and not running down your elbow so you take a step in an opposite direction and stop to look and then there’s this Poem All rights Reserved |
Selected Poems
2010