Sunday, February 04, 2007

MY FATHER FIGHTS HIS SHADOW

Disturbed by vodka
He wishes there was medicine
Dizzy
He pokes years
Delivers strange ideas
Delivers cold sandwich
We squander errant dream
Grow fat in a wastrel
Father stretches
Hands shaking
Blunt instruments
Praying
Even victory isn’t victory
Climate means breathing
Status means termination due
Imminence
Like an almost king
Hope transfer in a punk environment
Zealous emergence in an emergency
My father in a doubling
Inheritance with blessing
There’s winds that feel like ghosts
There’s messages waiting for ink.

1 Comments:

At 2:26 PM, Blogger jim said...

Nice stuff here and elsewhere googled arbella, two poems came up about war.

From Jim whom you met at Josh's party at Oyster Bay.

 

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