Black-thick:
Humid sweatbrow moon and the woosh wooshwoosh,
soak together, tear apart.
There is a charcoal
where body should be:
manshape, landshape,
watershape, a ship --
no ship -- a something,
a ghost-shape where
ship should be.
Black:
Black mullosks --
I am no biologist --
black husks. Alive, alive.
Black shells cling
to black bridge supports
where a docked ferry
unloads and reloads --
I am no:
Those shells are markers,
shells of math, geometry,
how high high tide --
I am no --
(I am sandcake; I am
clamhands, clamhands.)
I am no
facelift moonpull,
no measure stick
to measure by.
Comments
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I read all of your stuff last night very late. I may not get up for exercise tomorrow. This was after rereading a lot of livejournal and facebook and generally wandering around in emotional confusion for no clear reason or trigger.
I feel guilt that I had gone so long without checking your AP page. -
I thought a lot of this was just brilliant. In some places, I thought you overdid it. But this is a very confident poem, so I won't make any suggestions. It's a great piece, really. I was going to pick out a favorite part but I really love so much of it for such different reasons. You have a really unique style, one that I'm very interested in.
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Clamhands...That's all I'm going to say. I love it.
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