This is a poem I wrote a long, long time ago (in a land far, far away). It’s like a #tbt for poetry. A PBS (poem back Sunday—which, incidentally, Sundays are the days I most often watch PBS. Because Sunday has Masterpiece Mystery, which is simply the best. TANGENT STOPPED). Okay, so here is an older poem. It’s one I’ve often wanted to revise, but have never been able to get a foothold back into (though I know that I’ve reused a lot of the imagery in different ways).



until I’m beginning

to see god and blood tastes

bitter and salty like the French

fries too long in the oil

which we tasted that summer

we spent working in the

man-made lake which

years later would collapse

under the weight of

rain and then rush

up to devour houses

like that snake we saw

which swallowed a mouse

as if it were nothing; less

than air even, just a

way of passing time and

I felt lost for a whole

day after seeing it and

dreamt that night of

the man I used to love

who stood in the ocean

and let the water rise up

and taste the air from his lungs

until he became the waves

and the sea foam and the

sand like that time

we found a bone

in the valley that was so

picked apart by time

that it might once have been

part of anything: a deer or

a bear or the leg of

a beautiful man who

used to run and run until the soles

of his feet wept blood like the time

that a shard of glass scratched

my eyelid and I spent a day

with red tears shimmering

on my face and slipping

over my lips and onto my

tongue and they tasted

bitter and salty and like

something that I could

never replace.


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