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Tuesday, October 19, 2004


I've left y'all spiraling in the poem-free void for too long. Here's a new member of my infamous quasi-translations . . .

War History

It so happened in this little town
That things destroyed themselves
And none survived.
It was very late.
The sun and wind went poking their noses
Into the bones and tin cans and boards
And all the spaces the destroyed things left.
It so happened that every heart had fizzled out.
It so happened that no one opened their eyes
Or said anything to interrupt the sun and wind.
To do that they would have had to be alive,
And it's quite certain that the inanimate do not open
Their eyes, no matter how they try to absent themselves.
The same road that doesn't diverge can't go in three directions
To meet your visitors. And whatever stands reposeless
Without finding the source of its blindness
Without either horizontal or vertical,
Will certainly be eaten by the light inside.

posted by Reen |link| 0 comments

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