Friday, January 2, 2015

Robin C. Pinkman- A Poem

  more on the nature
  of the miraculous

  The pock marked neighbor oozes
  out another animal  it's probably
  not a beethoven  the same forest
  just stands there  and the same
  mountain follows me all over
  town wherever i go  everything
  gets sopped up and nothing is
  wasted  and i love the flavor of
  america, but i shrink from the
  people, and i dream of a better
  universe in which jaco pastorius
  lives forever, and really does,
  without a single stage to stand
  upon  and the vine reaches up
  and up, and won't die, but finally
  does for lack of light  and lingers
  there like the downtown where
  i'm from  all kinds of broken
  high-rises against the flat sky
  for no reason anyone can under-
  stand anymore.

No comments:

Post a Comment