thee martha silano poem
Martha Silano is a friend who happens to be a lights-out poet. Her newest book, Blue Positive, is just out. This piece is from that work.
My Man With His Fly Reel Eyes
After Andre Breton
My man with his fly reel eyes
Pale morning dun desire
My man's hip-wader heat
Gravel-in-the-shallows drive
My man with his Yakima Canyon shoulders
Sagebrush brow
My man's fingerling tongue
Biceps smooth as skipping stones
My man with his sockeye sperm
Trunk of ponderosa
My man's teeth the snow-fresh tracks
of cougar—cougar scream & cougar silence
My man's Frenchmen Coulee hands
My man the hawk with a snake in its mouth
My man the trout growing larger
My man skunked—his cattail want
My man the 40-mile-an-hour gust
a tarp set free from rocks
posted by thee trouthole at 4:14 PM
6 Comments:
FYI... formatting gets funky when the window is made smaller. May want to use frames on it or something.
That's would be finspot I suppose
Since I just made technical talk in my last comment, allow me to comment on the (now fixed) pome.
Due to the subject of the matter, this piece reminds me of several exact moments in my life. I readily admit to my bias in this case, but it still cannot in any way discount the feelings that these memories elicited in me. Mysterious. Clever. Wonderful. Left wondering. Wandering.
frames?
what is this, 1998?
Okay, I'll fuck finspot, if she'll let me.
jeebus, you call that poetree? i guess you had to be there.
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