- rearview: black storm sky
- voice: yodel
- sobriety: sticking
- litter : plastic
- totaling: layer
- ferryboat: barnacle
- glacial: filter
- transmutation: genesis
- blinks: blanks
- face-down: favorite ice cream
transmutation:: genesis
Like eyes in your rearview mirror, not mine
but black storm sky in a funeral of ice. Like voice,
yodel from a small crevice of wall
above your headboard. Are you stuck
recurrent dream parsed into reality
until you remember me more
as a plastic doll than love? Tell the story:
layers of fog, barnacles growing on our elbows
and teeth. Somehow we can feel
the glacial chill of water, totaling,
no transmutation of twig into snake, but a hint,
a flash of how naked we are against a blank sky,
gray limbs blending with the blinking gray slap
together? Sobriety in pink morning sweet rolls?
Face down in a mound of pillows saying
“blackberry” over and over again.
3 comments:
of course i couldn't leave it alone, i slightly modified the ending of mine, made it more sparse. I'm really liking this exchange notion, as a way of freeing vocabulary, tapping new sources.
I really enjoy this idea for working up a poem. I have already e-mailed someone with it and I will be sure to let you know how it turned out. Thank you.
I think that I'll give it a whirl. Thanks for the link.
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