flight without feather, 4 dancers [fresno, plato, aphrodite, stearns]

Everyone slows down and locks the rearview mirror when the ambulance arrives.

Look how the lightning subtracts the selves gone amok, grown awry!

It’s fortuitous, calmly, to entertain such shallowed breaths of equability; poise, if you will—

before the magnifications of the most-recent duplicities spill with the inconsolable cellos right off the page.

Our hummingbirds have grown their emerald bellies while we were away from all the rigmarole.

Three of them now, flying backwards, skirt the horizon’s thinning margins with soft, teal.

The last scattering of verbs coagulated all the prepositions.

You know—how wax burns before it mitigates memories of the dead conductor’s elegant hands;

their bones a map of flight without feather.

Are you ready? We’re pitching left to right now.

[Fresno is afraid.]

Go ahead, call your person quickly from the green room, but the WiFi is down due to the storms.

Plato, Aphrodite, and Stearns are playing with Playdoh in this absurd sandbox.


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10 Responses to D I R G E, III

  1. Peter says:

    Since no one else said
    Nothing (will work) the
    Shadow of time left a shiver
    Like splinters, mean-
    While the cats drift on
    The ethereal
    Couch. Good so far, until
    It improves and men play (baseball)
    For fun in the fall /Just a verse\ do
    It, all over: the margin

  2. Peter says:

    How about Lennon?

    Verse 1]
    Now I’ve watched you sitting there
    Seen the passers-by all stare
    Like you have no place to go
    But there’s so much they don’t know about Apple Scruffs
    You’ve been stood around for years
    Seen my smiles and touched my tears
    How it’s been a long, long time
    And how you’ve been on my mind, my Apple Scruffs

    Apple Scruffs, Apple Scruffs
    How I love you, how I love you

    [Verse 2]
    In the fog and in the rain
    Through the pleasures and the pain
    On the step outside you stand
    With your flowers in your hand, my Apple Scruffs
    While the years they come and go
    Now, your love must surely show me
    That beyond all time and space
    We’re together face to face, my Apple Scruffs

    Apple Scruffs, Apple Scruffs
    How I love you, how I love you

    • Krysia Jopek says:

      Thank you, I adore Lennon! I saw a great documentary on him a few months back on Netflix when I had time, boo hoo. I’m getting ready to launch a new issue of diaphanous micro and then getting ready to take my 19 year-old mentee to the Renaissance Fair in Lebanon. I’ve never been and have a cool eye mask and pink/orange temporary spray for my hair. Praying there are no meltdowns! Also, getting ready for dear friends to arrive from CA, near Sacramento, on Thursday. There’re “somewhere in Nevada” now, haha. I so need more time to work on D I R G E. I write most mornings on paper. It’s just finding the time to type up lines on my laptop and run with them, truncate them, embellish them, bring their music and philosophy to the linguistic surface, replete with unfathomable depths. Hope all is well where you are.

  3. Peter says:

    Ps: Planet Waves was an absolutely remarkable effort of an album, following on the heels as it did, of his accident. Noteworthy, regardless of opinions. My favorite poem is Immanuel Kant’s Third Critique. I’m no poet, less a teacher, but I know love when I see it! You’re poetry is all the love in the world.

    • Krysia Jopek says:

      Awwwww, thank you so much. I should be posting section IV of D I R G E tonight if I have the energy. Now that I’m imagining tonight, worlds away, I think I’ll most likely be posting Sunday morning, a blessed day off from all the gods/goddesses, known and of course, unknown.

  4. Peter says:

    Dragonflies buzz about
    A scarlet patch
    Spiders and slugs patrol
    The garden flies.

    Bugs Bunny

  5. Where is everyone? Don’t you know
    That you must still be a part of this masterpiece?
    Where are you now? Cowering
    Beyond the screen glare, voyeuristically attached
    To the keystrokes?

    Embed the truth in your own words
    In language. It matters. Language. It does.

    Ask the initiated.

    I fear that I may never see any more
    Dirge, and I thus shudder, profoundly.

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