for Thom Foster, the titler of this poem
1.
Sun angled on intense white snow seizes the eyes as prisoners.
The cell is lonely.
It lacks the necessary memory of other cells—
genetic codes inscribed upside down or backwards—
deviant conduct sprawled out, open.
2.
I know what you did last night.
It wasn’t pretty.
I’m pretty sure you can’t disclose—
even though I know.
3.
The mauve pills taste worlds better than the dusty blue ones
Their aftertaste echoes illness.
4.
For an estranged instant, I become a segment
that purports to appropriate grandeur—
a line that strains the horizon’s dim
cloud-cluttered sky—though I ache
to be an arc, half-glowing moon—
not a linear diameter.
5.
Can you begin to comprehend what I’m explaining?
I know you’re depleted by the day job and slipping
off the page. I’m incredibly sorry
the day swept you under the expensive carpet
you can’t afford.
6.
The dog has lost his tag, so no one will know his name.
He can learn another if disoriented and given food, touched.
It’s healthy to move on.
7.
The same roads lead to the same roads
to the ancient river rushing
its course through sharp stones.
I gather my deforming fingers across their surfaces
one by one, while counting
how many green stones
the river knows.
When they cut, I suck the blood
savoring the taste of iron.
I can’t remember the periodic chart.
I can no longer subtract by 7s.
Magnificent. I love ideas. Even in English or Latin. I love thinking them through, pivoting with them, like Archimedes or Solon did before. Ideas fill nothing up, do they not? So completely. They overcome me, waving with their masks, out loud.
dear philosopher-poet (akin to Heiddeger, Wittgenstein, and Nietzche),
what a truly beautiful, poetic, philosophical, and intellectually-provocative comment here on this new poem!
Thank you so much for injecting thoughts about thoughts, meta-thoughts, so poetically into my Saturday afternoon!
“[Ideas] overcome me, waving with their masks, out loud.” W.O.W.
OMG! 🦭🐆🐘🦓🦦🪐🌎💫
“ 4.
For an estranged instant, I become a segment
that purports to appropriate grandeur—
a line that strains the horizon’s dim
cloud-cluttered sky—though I ache
to be an arc, half-glowing moon—
not a linear diameter.”
Thank you for the quotation! I love when a reader throws back some lines that resonated. You made my morning, and I shall reply to your lovely email.
“And from this point on
learn the opinions of mortals by listening to the
deceptive ordering of my words.
[nightbright earth-roaming foreign light—]
so that nobody among mortals will ever manage,
in practical judgment, to ride on past you.”
—Parmenides the Eleatic
Demeter’s subterranean moonlight is for strength, healing
That’s why these poems work so well. They know and understand humankind so well.
what an amazing, provocative comment! Thank you so much, Tin Penny. A magical book arrived in the mail yesterday. I love the first page but then had to put the book down to complete some pragmatic tasks, finding part-time work and such, deadlines, human chores, sigh. Shall reply in kind via email over the weekend when the to-do list is less daunting. Thank you for reading my poems so carefully with philosophical curiosity/expertise and your pronounced human search for catharsis/meaning.