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the palm tree cuts the moon in half, it bleeds its stenciled leaves into the room and shivers your eyelash bounces back the shaft through burlap curtains, nets, I strain to hear where it rejoins the sky, the space between cicada timbals --- even our own expanding pleura -- before you shift, before the guard slams metal shut and shuffles away, across the sweating tiles |
From your poem "mid-term": that north of Barcelona beach where train tracks spilled over & took me to the skies? And here: "through burlap curtains, nets, I strain to hear where it rejoins the sky," And in "Beads": My hip dislodged, it stutters, bends towards the sky: a glassy languid face hung against the window. From a few of these I read I'm seeing engagement with perspective, objects and particularly a lower and higher space. And the eye or eyes. You return to this it seems, and I find you're taking the reader here. Some of your poems are based in strong feelings and emotions, while others make the reader observent. I enjoyed these few I've read. | Posted on 2021-11-22 00:00:00 | by Wolfwatching | [ Reply to This ] | |