The moving air of outdoors licks my forearms
when I step outside and I see the clumsy dance
of my whole day indoors stand up and bow
out. Like a funeral far a man that no one
liked anymore but we all knew, so there
we are, wearing black and the mourner’s
poker face; then we go home and call a friend
for coffee. And the world is there for us.
It must be the hours we spend inside, out
of the light, that first gave us the cleft
between the mind and body, landlord
and renter. Right now–in the sunlight
my body drinks down and the wind that puts
me here in the world, a village of flesh
on a green map of the land–if you killed me,
every aspect would fall down dead as one.
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2 comments:
excellent writing Eric.
I haven't had much luck rounding up other poets to join us and here's why - if a poem is posted on your blog these days it is considered published by many editors. In that light, I think I will stop doing this - I am going to see if I can set my blog up to show only one, and allow access to only one. If I can do that, then there is really only one poem published at a time which I can't see as being an issue. Anyhow, until then, good luck with your endeavours and gift.
Jude
OK - I figured it out. I simply changed the display to 'one day' under formatting, and then I went into the Template and stripped out the Previous Posts and Archive sections on the sidebar. Done. Now there is just one poem 'published' and no evidence of any other. Still see them all in the EDIT page, which helps with revision and storage.
Jude
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