Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Clepsydra

I am planting weeds
instead of flowers
to tip the balance on
each tiring hour you seeded,
cultivating me.

My eyes are raw
my fists are cut through
and snails commune like rubies
in my mouth
as I govern this windy garden
of rancour and bile.

The swinging lamp is smashed
upon the littered path.
I edge my elbows past
the hedge you grew.
I plaster up the holes
where once you drew
plasma from my smacked vein.

The hounds are in, the time has flown,
the cats are calmly drinking you.
I am in the night, my shoulders up
my legs askew.

I plant nettle.
I turn my spade.
I screw the screw.

3 comments:

Jack Reed said...

BLARG! These poems are seriously solid. The imagery... yegads. I have had a couple of glasses of wine so shall wait until tomorrow to provide a more incisive critique, but fear not - I would draw the same general conclusions then too.

This is sterling stuff. Reading these, I feel like there's whole areas of my friend that I have never tapped into, areas of thought that I've never been privileged to glimpse. And I mean that SINCERELY.

Once again, the non-poetry-aficionado disclaimer, but to my mind this stuff deserves broader recognition.

"My eyes are raw
my fists are cut through
and snails commune like rubies
in my mouth
as I govern this windy garden
of rancour and bile"

SUBLIME!

More tomorrow.

Anonymous said...

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I've been around for quite a lot of time, but finally decided to show my appreciation of your work!

Thumbs up, and keep it going!

Cheers
Christian, iwspo.net

Anonymous said...

Just want to say what a great blog you got here!
I've been around for quite a lot of time, but finally decided to show my appreciation of your work!

Thumbs up, and keep it going!

Cheers
Christian, iwspo.net