Friday, August 26, 2005

Spear Atmosphere

I dare to say (as the approaching comet
dares) that you have given
sound a spine, brought

me given me
into stitches of hair,
dust, wool. Clay is red

your tongue is red
clay in a river bed awake
and speak. Clouding

over, the black thread
lifts my eyelids,
pupils and Saturn

unlike any moon. We carve
ecstasy out of lime
seeds, small yellow

breath-puff, a crystal
city on your breastplate.
Begin again

as the rain comes. It’s perfection
and collapse, a spitting
wind in a slew

of lightning bolts mistaken
for flashbulbs. Pop. Smoke.

Blue spots with trails among
the planets.

((Another poem from the collaboration.))


Lorna Dee Cervantes said...


What if it had no punctuation, no caps? Take advantage of all the linebreaks & layers, and ruleless abandon.

poetzie said...

Thanks, Lorna. I've revised it without punctuation-- works quite well. You're right about the ruleless abandon.