The street.

on By 
an opus eye
a moon in the hood of 
a rose, my hibernation 
once every few 
weeks;

if I wake,
an eye cracks; many stones
and cold-blooded trees
what a thrill
I know it’s in the wind
if I shame the childless snakes
in my bed. Opus rubies split along
The street.

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20 Comments

  1. Awesome! I just read a couple of collections of poetry by Margaret Atwood. It just occurred to me that your poetry reminds me of hers. Have you ever read her poetry?

    Liked by 2 people

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      1. I just read two collections on Kindle that were “Selected Poems: 1965-1975” and “Selected Poems II: 1976-1986.” Based on your style, I think you’d really like them!

        Liked by 3 people

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  2. There’s a dreamy quality to this that eludes my grasp. I feel like I’m witnessing blood mixing in water, taking in the odd, haunting shapes that my mind, in its desperation, tries to make sense of.

    While I am often displeased by people who oversimplify the creative process and claim poetry is merely the outpouring of emotion into language, I find that when done well, it feels exactly that – and there’s nothing simple about it.

    Liked by 3 people

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    1. Thank you so very much, Masa. I get similar mental imagery, diffusing then submerging. I agree with you greatly on the creative process; done well, yes, but it takes a lot of emotion to sort through, tweak just right, and then poetry says, “No. Do it again.”

      At least, that’s my view. 😁

      Like

      Reply

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