Monday, January 31, 2011

Clothesline. What occurs when words are stretched between two posts on a line?

Out to dry like a cormorant spreading wings? A rigidity that finds no apt skeleton? Is a poem more than laundry along a line?


You might recall your grandmother saying, “A good meal has a spine – supple with a relaxed properness. Never stuffy.” Everyone is paring wine with food. Don’t forget conversation.

2 comments:

  1. not to be outdone

    she flings the frisbee farther
    whence springs
    this mean and miraculous
    spirit?

    looking up to the last page
    and birding zap or zither
    one's onetime binge
    finds fire as a reason

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  2. An effect of new geography, and new things to see? I love and admire cormorants. I see them often when I row. And they are, in fact, hanging their wing feathers -- which are not as water-repellant as other birds' feathers -- out to dry.

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