careful of sway. its direct reflection of raw wind. coup d'etat. swift route of monsoon and drift. maybe I cancel your words, already dripping with bounce. is that what you are. afraid of. the tides. horseshoe crabs and their dinosaurian spines. you dream of them, stretched and shiny like spun sugar. pulled sugar. the sweetness irreverent but bright. where do we find them. but on coasts. debris. my own placenta was not my own and now. even this. is elsewhere claimed. what is under the shell. but a mass of jointed limbs. stink of seaweed. moving on and out.
3 comments:
Your poems are so dense with imagery, which really plays off its plain boxy presentation. That is exactly it - the structure is more like a present, holding the gift of pictures, waiting to be opened and enjoyed.
wow, cliff. thank you. i think you're on to something about the form, for sure. there is something about having the flush margins that "contains" the poem, just as you are saying. I write these poems with a jagged margin and then adjust them, but not until the right margin is flush do I feel that the poems are "justified," pun intended. Thanks so much for your comment.
lol you're welcome. I love to play with space too, but for some reason it never rings honestly enough for my poems. But you're right, there is constant adjustment, until finally when everything comes into place - they belong exactly where they are on the page, and that's when you know the poem has found you.
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