I haven’t really written poetry in many years, but lately I’ve come crawling back. It’s felt strange, like clumsily re-learning as an adult how to do something that came very naturally in childhood. (In the same spirit, I’ve been listening lately to the music that moved me so much when I was younger, and yet that I’d somehow almost forgotten about; this morning it was Hot Tuna’s “The Water Song”, which I used to play first thing on sunny mornings when I was at college. OK–there weren’t ALL that many sunny mornings in Portland, but there were some. I’ve been wishing lately that I were a musician, so that I could put my words to music.)
As I was “messing around” with lines (of poetry) lately, I found that I was spending far too much time and effort trying to decide where the line-breaks should come. I guess I’ve always found them a little annoying and somewhat beside the point, unless I was writing my sonnets or something. Anyway, a day or two ago I decided to say to hell with them, and see if what I’ve been writing works as something along the lines of prose poetry. So far, I’m happy with the results.
I just finished this–the third in the series of which the poems I posted a couple of posts ago are also a part:
Fires along the walls. Lost light caught in corners, starved dogs summoned, sweat and smoke in little yards. Moon begins her wayward fall.
Fingers practice the anatomy of stone. You drink, you dance, you spill your wine on dust that soaks up time. You like to sing the sparks that flicker in the gorgeous mind, in the heart always dismissive of stolid, arid tunes.
Ruptured stars: down here it’s night. Sleeping hills are turning now to space where nothing matters, your finger sliding warm and welcome down my arm.
Swallow sweeping twin-tailed to a secret room to dive, my dress a bloom. There is a bead of love between each wave, a peace that rights the murder, the only sense we ever made.
(P.S. re: my previous post–apparently marketing isn’t my forte. Fortunately for me, that comes as no surprise. In any case, the Giveaway of the print version of Holding Breath: A Memoir of AIDS’ Wildfire Days, is still open until tomorrow–David’s birthday. As no one has entered so far, anyone who does has a pretty good chance of winning. 🙂 Here’s the link to the book’s Amazon page, just in case: