hades to himself
her full pink wholeness,
the floral cheek, the step like wind,
i watch drop like a garment.
i watch her bare to pale and silence.
the bone moon wanes and the rock pulls toward it.
the fire quivers in the hearth; the ash drops quiet.
she does not sing; how is she singing?
her eyes like stone remote--
like stone, that vein of breaking heat--
red seed juice stains her lips and teeth,
runs down her face of white and black--
why, why, why do i love
her more than ever, more than ever?
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why do i write these things?
something something the warren something
because love is the great good use one person makes of another (daughter polly of the strawberry letter).
this is the current beginning (home-?) page of the warren that i'm hoping this blog will become. as various poems originally composed mostly on this blog turn into...uh, collections, i guess is a good term, i'll turn them into their own blogs and then they'll connect to this blog, findable right below this section, under "books" (though that's not not a misnomer as a title).
it's a way for me to organize the body of the stuff i've turned out--and like--into books without actually having to find a publisher to do it for me on paper. anyway, enjoy! (?)
About Me
- sra
- either these nuclear curtains go or i do.
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