“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.” — Allen Ginsberg, from Ginsberg, A Biography.
Redemption in the Water
drown in egoism. how we forget – don’t. for flicker- shift this shell ashore, revive the rolling carcass and dissect, drag that black heart with the colour waves, bleaching comatose vanity that presses with weight of our bodies- we sunk like sinking stripping skin for river, it rowed, it rowed, wrapped with those oars wallow, watch, wallow, now wait. how the tide turns fast the shores threadbare, smaller and larger with cavorting drift, it pulls us in. some of us- don’t forget as we drown- flicker shift, flicker shift. floats of bodies glow through thin chalk board, the light planked ladder elevates the limbs sprawl in elegance. Something. so majestic in this empathetic chocking- dead yet so alive.