Saturday, August 2, 2008

Paella One Way

Considered as a whole, the fragments shy. A honeysuckle midriff matters how. Playing cards blow. And all at once now a breath blown spry.

Or classical influence. Photographs in the mail. The herpetologist called and called until at last he gave up. In Ireland once, where it never once rained.

Form, too. Words rolling like bricks before a bulldozer. He fixed the hay rake, one eye one the sun. Maine is a place, but also an idea.

The afternoon, children's voices. Leaving the church, every mourner stopped to glance at the sky. Certain doors squeak, certain weathers recall the past. Paella one way then later another.

Chairs falling over. The central nervous system blown but capable of recovery. He wrote late, envisioning an audience camped out between the hills.

Where at last we recline, liars to the end.

No comments:

Post a Comment