Today's poem is by Lisa Russ Spaar
If never was the question. Even then.
That when feels closer now
might embarrass me before this window,
more mirror than I would like at this hour,
bathos of years ghosting face, throat,
my impatient turning off of the lamp.
Now I'm small again, and the world outside
mysterious, perfumed, & large.
Were I not to feel this, would now
be when? I watch the primal arousal:
day's lost fruit stoned by black hills,
the metafucked in the metaphysical, &c.
Then five duskal flames assign me
the barkless dark, the barren cherry.
Copyright © 2012 Lisa Russ Spaar All rights reserved
from Vanitas, Rough
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Weekly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2012 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2012 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved