10 December 2013

This Poem is Titled 'Emily Dickinson's 183rd Birthday.'

Here's what you do - 
Take what you have -
make it kindling.  
Chop the table -
smash the chair. 
Split the trunk. 
Expose the heart. 
Build a fire -
stand within it. 
Wait for what flies.

We follow the gull along ocean drive.
Dreams colonize.

Every beast is driven by hunger - we with an
     instinct for god's own grief and a place in 
     our breast for beauty to abide -
     a pigeon smeared across pavement, 
     with lifted head, strains to rise.

Desire is the mold that longs for the model.
Desire is the model that dreams of the mold.
From the splintered remains of yesterday's axework, 
find in the wood grain a small bird's eye. 

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