Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Lizz Murphy — Poem 40: Bat



1 comment:

  1. here's an old bat poem of mine for ya Lizz

    mimesis
    what comes into my house becomes me

    night is an instance
    the imitation I show sleep

    and faroff dawn
    with its tribe of oars
    contending
    beaten gold
    rose fingered

    hands take hold

    *

    last eddy of dusk displaced inside

    a bat flies in
    everything dropped
    while
    we wave our arms around like one
    and fold up when it stops
    we with our gravity
    this one hung up

    *

    just inside the front door
    among shoes
    I find a snake
    black one
    I seek prosthesis of my own
    something cylindrical
    about the same
    to poke it with, out

    something smooths
    from sight

    *

    bright out
    come to shade
    flies come in with me
    over my meat I wave my hands
    in just the way they do

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