Sing the song of centuries
Sing the song of ninety-degree summers
The song of syphilis
The song of electrical storms inside us
Sing the song of seagulls
Sing the song of doors slammed
The song of bosoms in our shirts
The song of drunken parrots
Sing the song of cauldrons bubbling
The song of our daughters filing past
The song of school kids revving their engines
Sing the low song of wolves sharpening their teeth
Sing the song of the living
Sing the song of mail in their hands
Of marbles, keys, envelopes sliced open
The song of shoes shuffling past
Sing the song of sneezing and coughing and changing direction
Sing the song of Theseus’ madness, midsummer
The song of hard-working, of happenstance
of some tinker’s reliquary
The song of tsunamis
Sing the song of pigeons scoring the wind
Sing the song of obstacles, of evergreens
The song of our liturgy, the song of the answering machine
The song of the alcove, the lean-to
the chlorophyll bright in the trees
Sing the song of Apollo, of Agamemnon
The song of Cassandra, the loneliest woman in the world
The song of the swan gliding in swamp water
The song of the clavicle, the cave dweller
Sing the song of our small breastedness, our bordellos
Sing the song of our nightgowns, our decrepit teeth
The song of our hips, our split feet
The song of our thirty-three sails in thirty-three un-
sailable waters
Sing the song of Cecil nailing the shingles to the roof
Sing the song of mist hovering in the button trees
of Caesarean sunset
The song of hydro bills, of snowstorms
The song of bottles, of algae, of billy goats
Sing the song of Mars, of Mercury, of the Americas
The song of our finger bones tapping the locks
The song of the pale bow of the moon, the sun
Slipping into our song:
Dear Landlord,
Comments (1)
Comment FeedI'm a writer (mostly poetry)
Carole Thorpe more than 12 years ago