Aach...ye speak like a poet, but ye punch like one too...

PUNCH LIKE A POET

Tuesday, December 05, 2006
  
Why not?

Thought I'd swing by and announce to the world (or at least to the tumbleweeds and dust bunnies that inhabit this long-neglected blog) that Fanny's visa interview has been scheduled for January 18th, which means that we'll hopefully be heading for Texas (for good) in early February.

While I'm logged into blogger might as well post some of what I've been working on the past few months. A couple of poems:

WRITER'S BLOCK

He waits for his tongue
to ignite. Above his head
birds turn south again.
The television leaves nothing

unexplained. He distracts himself
with cheap beer, crushes
the empties against his forehead
like a linebacker

proving himself to the moon,
while the pumpjack
across the highway bobs
like a drinking bird,

and when it whistles
the dark, liquid bones
of prehistoric fish
swim up out of the ground.




SEATTLE SONG

Gray morning scowls through airport
windows and in the gaps between
buildings. The rain is never
not falling. Coffee breeds like a warm,
welcome disease. Harbor cranes
are enormous orange horses at the water.
Lichens sprout on wood roofs.
The coughing traffic comes down
with something. Five hundred feet in the air
tourists dine and rotate while the homeless
sleep in every bus depot like maniac
sports fans. A man in a football jersey
going to Alaska and gut fish. The drunk
beside him roadied for Marty Robbins
until the sumbitch stole his woman.
And my Jamaican cab driver hammers
the dashboard with a fist and fulminates
against the police. Even de cops
in Mis'sippi gib me less shit, man,
he says, turning to look me in the eye.
That's outrageous, I tell him.
That and this weather.

# posted by Daniel at 4:43 PM.