Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Imagism experiments from 9/06

On my left
a small fence
looks made of rust

end every ten feet
there's a post
be it wooden

or metal and
rusted itself
each post bears the fence

along the edge of the orchard

A cord of woven steel
hangs behind me now

Its frayed ends
pierced my hands

this morning
when I removed it

from its place
and opened the padlock the held it.

Fallen fruit stinks
like vinegar
in the morning

Just wait
it stinks worse
after noon.

A green trash can
is tilted
away from a post

They stand together
in front of a row
of apple trees

Red apples hang
singly, in pairs,
in groups of more than two,
from the branches

Above the trees
the sky remains
but for clouds; and one noisy plane.

There are fingers
between my fingers
because my hands
are folded

How can I write
with folded hands?
I cannot and so
I don't

I dictate this poem
to my trusted friend
her hips write it down
for me.


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