Thursday, August 20, 2009

box - fate

Is that a giant concrete block behind you Christopher? Oh, why yes it is. Shall I read you a poem, then? Why, yes you shall. Thank you. No, thank you.

box: fate

it is a summons now
to leave ourselves

wayward instead
exploring forgotten


I know wobble and
tempt to detect a
useless sculpture

in the plains of some country.

if I succeed I will
write a book;

if I fail I will

take back into town a twisted
tree limb

and toss it in a well to hear the sound

collapse around brick lining.

fate would have it either way,

shrieking, and tucking itself away

a tiny box.

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