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    Tuesday, April 05, 2005

    this is the story of your red right ankle

    This afternoon I'm going on a walk in Pacifica with my MFA workshop in poetry. We were to bring a poem with us sort of describing the pier and our expectations of the walk etc. Here's what I came up with-


    they’re just words—
    words stacked on end tables
    heaved into black smoke
    down twisted highways, skirt the edges of mountains
    series of letters ‘round your neck
    alphabet soup mix, fruit loop bowls
    my tiny twine string
    sometimes edible begets
    a permanent engraved arm band

    deep gauged rivulets run to my left
    water marks are long and lean
    hand packed sand to build
    like winter snow men-caked in ice

    when I whisper into your ear
    I say things like:
    Whisker tickles, harpy heroines, droopy faced dogs
    You swat at your ear
    You say things like:
    Did you hear the buzz? It was close this time.

    when we approach the pier we start dropping off
    boards splinter off into the Pacific
    little sugar cubes popped into tea
    swirl and let us ride a wave
    until we somersault onto sand
    heaved and heart beat happy

    poke around with a big stick
    letters appear in pockets
    under armpits and behind knee bends
    keep collecting to make words
    find your way home
    deep in a blanket fold—sleep


    Blogger Michael said...

    yes yes, that's all good and fine, but did you DO a somersault or not!

    11:33 PM  
    Anonymous Anonymous said...

    she's going to tell you that she did a somersault but she didn't.

    4:12 PM  

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