I like the light ease yet tight nuttiness of your POWERLINE HILL, Brian.
Free, lively, peopley creatures, close-observed.
Best,
Judy
2009/9/2 Brian Hawkins <[log in to unmask]>
> POWERLINE HILL
>
> Now night is falling the road hisses
> Less and less often, like a snake
> Succumbing to slumber or dying of cold.
>
> Dry leaf cymbals are suddenly clashed
> By some scurrying creature, at random
> In the tight logic of its own huge existence.
>
> Blue and orange must be the colours
> Of whatever people live in the west.
> A frog with a coat on is creaking in a ditch.
>
> Like a hand knocking on a distant door
> Like a phone ringing in an empty house
> A dog barks and barks, receiving no answer.
>
>
> TREE ORCHIDS
>
> Whose heart would not be hung up
> With the orchids when September's
> Propellant breath exhales
> Flames of sunshine? Then on boughs
> Oh, thirty metres removed
> From the dark and rotting, golden sprays
> Unfurl like the tongues of clarions
> Calling to those who pass
> To stop, to stand still, to look up.
>
>
> Brian
>
>
>
>
>
>
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